The Point of Change
by Anna St. James
Summary: What is life like, never learning the identity of your father? What is life like when, upon learning, you find yourself wishing that particular piece of information had never been revealed? How does life change when one's parent is a vampire?
1. The Point

**The Point of Change**

_A/N This is a thought that has been bouncing in my head for quite some time. I'm excited to finally get to share it with you. I'm still a little new to this writing thing, the grammar and punctuation may not be perfect, but I would more than adore feedback on the story, ideas that you like, ideas that you don't like, and please give me feedback on something that doesn't make sense!_

And, as usual, critters found in Moonlight are critters not copyrighted by me.

I appreciate each of you who have taken the time to read the inner depths of my creative story-teller.

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_What would life be like if one were sired by a vampire, and then, for fear of the child's life, she were sent to live with relatives in a foreign town, believing her parents dead? What if, through a twist of fate, the child grows up and moves to the same country, the same city, that has close vampire ties -some of the same ties that endangered her life when she was so young - and the beautiful young woman is inadvertantly in for the fight of her life when the enemies of her father learn of her existance?_

_At what point does her life cease to be normal, and she realizes that she needs to use her wit and a little help from her friends just to stay alive?_

I would like to introduce to you, Isabella, a courageous young woman, fighting against an unknown evil, and searching to find her true roots.

**And yes, in case anyone is worrying too much about the Moonlight characters, they're upcoming, I haven't forgotten about them simply because CBS seems to think its a good idea to forget about them**

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My life came to a point at that moment.

There was a knock at the door, and glancing at the security camera, it was no person I'd ever seen before. I had been warned before that I needed to leave, to disappear or move to another country, but I hadn't taken any of it seriously before last night.

Last night while I was working, one of my few friends in this country, my coworker Marcus, warned me that if I cared about my life at all, that I needed to do whatever it took to vanish as soon as I possibly could. He looked terrified, but I thought he was teasing me about the mysterious phone calls I had been receiving. I joked, asking him if someone had sent INS or the FBI after me. He hasn't even cracked a smile, but looked at me somberly and told me it was worse. I wasn't creative at the moment to figure out what could possibly be worse than having my student visa revoked and having to leave back to Europe before I'd taken the semester finals here at my university in New York City, the course load had been rough and with my internship, sometimes it felt like I never got the chance to sleep. I didn't want to have to repeat this semester again under any circumstances. When I shared that with Marcus, I expected that spark of terror in his eyes to fade away and his friendly smile to replace it. But it didn't. And that was what finally scared me.

I started to ask him what was wrong, but he hushed me. He walked over to the locker room, where we leave our street clothes to change into our scrubs before work. I must have been standing there gaping at him, because he came back faster than I thought possible.

"Here," he said, "take these". He thrust a large white envelope at me. He went back to the changing area as I opened the end of the envelope. Inside was a passport, an American one. Another piece of paper declared itself to be a birth certificate from California, and also a state driver's license and a plane ticket. There was also a smaller envelope inside, and at a quick glance it looked like it held several hundred Euros worth of American cash.

Why would he be handing me someone else's identification? Didn't he realize that by stealing an identity I could be sent to prison or deported? Was this some strange joke? Had I joked about the Italian mafia one too many times and he took it seriously and took it upon himself to 'rescue' me?

I didn't see him return, but I jumped as I felt him thrust my overcoat on my shoulders, and start guiding me out the door.

This was just getting too weird for me, and I planted my feet and came to a stand still. My emotions can change fast, and I was done being surprised and shocked, and now I was angry and wanting an answer..

"Marc," I said, addressing him, "I have no idea what's going on with you. I can't just leave my internship or the university or the country on a whim."

"Yes you can" Marcus replied forcefully, narrowing his eyes. "And you are."

"No," I said, pushing him off of me. "Maybe this is some late night joke, but you are taking this too far and its not funny anymore."

"Bella, this is no joke!" he said, raising his voice. That look of sheer terror hadn't left his eyes, and he seemed to be getting more pale by the second.

"Please, Bella, just take these and leave. Don't ask questions, don't be stupid. Just go." He started pushing me towards the door again.

At that moment, the bell on the elevators signaled that someone was stopping down on our floor. Marcus stopped pushing me, and tried to appear as nonchalant as possible as a technician came down with a delivery for our department.

I realized in that moment, that Marcus was completely serious about whatever he had been so adamant about before. I trusted Marcus, not only was he a great coworker, but he was a true friend. He looked out for me, watched my back, even when I insisted I could handle everything myself. He helped me learn the ropes both at my internship, and also at the university. America isn't too much different than Europe, but out here in the states, I had no family to rely on. And Marcus had stepped up and become a surrogate brother that I'd never had. He didn't look much older than me, but he had wisdom beyond his years.

I walked into the changing room to grab my purse and I quickly tossed on my jeans and sweater, and hurled my scrubs into the hospital's dirty linen hamper. I glanced through the envelope and saw that the passport had my photo on it, but the name attached to it was Amanda Marie Johansen. Amanda Johansen was the name on the other documents, and it appeared that Amanda had a flight to London first thing tomorrow morning. Whatever was going on, Marcus was certainly alarmed enough to invent me a new identity, apparently. I wondered if the paperwork was valid, but it certainly seemed real to me. Why on earth would he go to these lengths unless he was deadly serious about something I didn't yet comprehend. In one moment, I realized that myself, Isabella Giacomina De Mare, was in danger, for whatever reason so severely that I needed to flee the country, urgently.

As I walked out of the changing room, I heard Marcus and the technician finishing up their delivery paperwork. As soon as the technician left on the elevator, Marcus turned toward me, his pale face filled with concern.

Looking at him, I had never seen him so afraid in his life. He was one of these fearless sorts, kind on like myself, and his terrified expressions were seriously making me doubt my own safety here in the USA. I held up my hand before he could say anything. "I'm leaving, my instinct says I should leave right now." I started. "I'm going to drop by my apartment and get a change of clothes and a few things I need, and then I… er…Amanda will be on the airplane first thing in the morning."

Marcus sighed softly "Okay, Bella. There's more information inside the envelope, read it when you're safe and when you're alone. Be careful."

I wrapped my arms around the sturdy man and he stiffened, like usual, before he returned the warm embrace.

I turned toward the door, and I bid my dear friend goodbye. His last words were "Your life depends on your safety, Bella, be careful."

I hailed a cab outside the entrance to the university hospital, and the driver took me to my apartment building. Normally I walked the several blocks to my apartment, but I was starting to have the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. After paying the driver, I dashed upstairs to my third floor walkup I shared with my roommate.

I felt much safer once I was in my home. Several months ago I had began receiving warning calls and letters, urging me to leave or to disappear, to go off the radar. I had assumed they were prank calls, but Marcus had helped me wire a closed circuit security camera, and we installed extra locks and installed a security system. It did feel safer, but I wasn't too worried about the prank calls and notes.

When I sat on my bed, I realized the enormity of the situation. Was I being stalked? Did someone want to kill me? Was my father a mobster, like my cousin had teased as we were growing up in a small village near Milan, Italy? Had someone put a hit on me?

I started to pack my backpack, easier to handle in an airport than a purse. Even though I was just 21, I was a well seasoned international traveler. The envelope that Marcus gave me went into a hidden compartment in the backpack. The identification, money, and plane tickets, I kept on my person, glad for a concealment jacket.. I put on my jacket. Instead of a suitcase, I picked a small duffle bag. It had a hidden compartment and inside I set my Italian passport and documents regarding my student visa status. I placed my university card and my own drivers license I obtained when I moved here for university. I dumped out my purse. My lip balm, I-Pod and cell phone went into a small pocket in my backpack. My computer went into my backpack next, with its needed cords.. I tossed my toothbrush and my medications into an approved TSA baggie, set it in my backpack and zipped my backpack closed. I emptied out the cash from my purse, a few hundred in tens and twenties, and folded them into my pocket of my jeans. I looked over on my nightstand, and I found the jewelry that my great grandmother had given me, a set of silver bracelets with ocean scenes on the thin silver bangles, and matching earrings with a stone inset the color of the sea. The last in the set that my great grandmother had given me was a silver ring inlayed with the same blue stone. The small bands of silver holding the stone in were definitely artistic. I made a mental note as I put them on to ask my grandmother one day about the history of the jewelry. Oh well, nostalgia time was over, and I put the jewelry on, lacking a better place to stow it.

I quickly grabbed some underclothes, pajamas, a clean pair of pants and a few shirts, along with my running shoes and a pair of socks. I tossed them into the duffle bag, and put in a windbreaker, and closed the duffle bag. I then put my backpack on my shoulders and slung my duffle bag over my left shoulder.

Everything else in my apartment would have to be dealt with later, there was nothing else urgent or irreplaceable.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of orange juice, I was chugging down the last of the orange juice when my security monitors showed that there was an unknown man in a dark suit coming to the door. He knocked at the door, calling my name. I didn't answer, and he knocked again. Looking at the monitor, I was certain that I had never seen this man before, yet here he was on the other side of the door insisting that he knew I was in there. That was just creepy. One of the few times that my grandmother talked about my mother, she told me that my mom had nerves of steel, and that I must have inherited the trait from her. I had no memories of my mother, she abandoned me with my extended family when I was small.

The man on the door raised his voice, telling me to open the door or that he was going to break the door in. Looking at the man, I doubted the extra locks would have been much of a problem for this man. "I'm coming" I hollered back, "Just finishing my orange juice".

Phew. That had come off sounding nearly nonchalant. I realized I had mere seconds to act. I went out the fire escape and climbed down, moving as fast as I could. When I reached the bottom, I had to jump the last several feet, landing heavy on my feet. When I stood up, my eyes widened as I found myself face to face with the same man who had been at my door just moments before.

"Isabella, haven't you been raised to let a guest inside?" the man asked, grabbing my forearm and holding it tightly.

"Io Scuso signore," I said, lapsing back into Italian as my surprise and anger had overrun my brain momentarily. "I'm sorry, but the classification of guest typically is understood to mean that the guest is someone welcome as a guest." I looked at him squarely in the eye, while my words were polite, my emotions were anything but.

The man grabbed my arm tighter. "You're just as spirited as your own mother, Isabella. She would have been proud of you."

"My mother is none of your business", I hissed, hitting him hard with a left hook. He gasped and moved his free hand to his face. I was a little surprised because he looked like a solid guy who could handle some punches. He moved his hand and I was surprised that instead of a welt from the ring, there were nasty blisters in its place. He went to slap me, and I blocked it with my forearm. The assailant screeched in pain, the bangle bracelets had stung, being slammed into my arm so forcefully, but this guy was starting to act like a sissy. He looked back over at me, his pale skin nearly glowing from the nearby streetlamp, blisters forming on his hands. When I looked at his face, I nearly shrieked myself. What had originally looked normal for a man, was now anything but. His eyes turned very light and he growled, lunging at me. I turned, expecting the blow from some human animal, and to my astonishment, another creature leapt from the shadows and attacked the man before he could touch me again.

"Run, Bella!!" The creature yelled, and in that moment, I realized the attacking creature was none other than my friend Marcus.

As I ran out of the alley, I said a quick prayer for the safety of Marcus, then I got the hell away from my apartment. I kept running until I found a cab to hail. I got in, and asked the driver to take me to JFK. The cabbie was a kind middle aged middle-eastern looking gentleman. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for the monster to be following us in a car.

"Ma'am, is there anything wrong?" The cabbie asked me. "You're very much pale, Ma'am"

I took a slow breath to try an even myself out. "No," I lied, "everything is going to be okay".

I was still trying to understand how Marcus managed to be at my apartment, how he knew what was happening, but mostly how he leapt and attacked like such an animal.

I suddenly didn't feel safe taking the flight Marcus had arranged somehow. What if there was someone expecting me on the flight, someone like the man who knocked on my door. At that realization, I thought I was going to throw up.

I rolled down the window, hoping a breeze would help me think more clearly.

At the next light, the cabbie turned to look at me. "I very much worried about you, May I take you to hospital ma'am?"

I had a dawning realization. If it was me against the world, I better take charge of me. At 21 in America, children are fully adults. But this was different. It was no longer cultures and customs and education I needed to learn, I needed to learn how to survive against whatever it was chasing me. Whatever it was that made Marcus so fearful. Whatever it was that Marcus had attacked. Taking charge of me meant that I needed to out-wit whatever may be lurking in the shadows.

"Sir?" I addressed the cabbie, "Do you ever take customers out of the city of New York?"

"Yes," he responded, looking quizzically at me in the rear view mirror. "But fares, they become much larger."

I took out a few hundred American dollars from the stash that Marcus had given me, and handed them to the cabbie.

"This is to show you that I am serious. Can you please take me to Philadelphia?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the cabbie said, and looked concernedly at me as I swiveled my head around, reassuring myself that we weren't being followed.

As we left the city, I my heart rate finally calmed down. I closed my window, no longer needing the fresh air to calm my nerves. The cabbie had to stop for fuel, and he kindly asked me if he could get anything for me. The caring tone in his voice caught me by surprise. In NY, they always tell you that the taxi drivers are very rude. This one gentleman forever changed my opinion on the compassion of other people.

"Just a bottle of water, please" I told the driver, handing him some small bills to cover the cost.

Shortly afterward, we were on our way. I looked out the window and let my mind wander. Never in a million years would I have imagined myself, a virtual orphan who grew up in a small town in Italy, moving to New York City for university, and then, in the span of two hours, learn just how much of a friend Marcus was, learn that someone knew my mother, fight for my life, and abandon everything I ever had here in the USA, to disappear under an alias back to Europe. The weight of everything was starting to catch up to me. This was definitely a major turning point in my life, and I had yet to figure out the reasons behind it.

I sighed softly, and the driver looked over at me with a worried look, but didn't say anything.

Opening my backpack, I took out the envelope Marcus had thrust at me earlier. He had said there was more information inside the envelope. Maybe there would be an explanation on what the hell was going on.

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_Groveling and begging for feedback is going to become a habit of mine, but these first chapters mean a lot to me because I sometimes feel like the beginnings of my stories are something rocky and less than clear. If its the case, it would mean a lot to me to hear it from other people, plus any suggestions on how I could improve for future reference. If my story is a hunk of shit, I would rather eighteen thousand people let me know about it. Thank you again, for taking the time to read my story._


	2. When Things Were Amiss

_A/N: I received so much positive feedback on my last chapter, thank you. It made me excited to finish tweaking my second chapter and get it posted for those of you who enjoyed Isabella and her first chapter. Again, as before, I'm open to feedback and suggestions, and I appreciate it more than I have words to convey._

_Thank you for following my story. I had mentioned in a previous story that I was absolutely speechless at the amazing community of Fan Fiction. This awe holds still, you all continue to be amazing. Thank you for such a warm welcome after my absence._

**Moonlight creatures are not my own creatures. If you thought they were, well, then you're an exceptionally special person. :)**

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After reading the note from Marcus that I found in the envelope, I realized that I had a lot more questions than answers. There seemed to be an abject absence of explanations, and just a set of orders, things I shouldn't say, who wasn't safe to talk to, but again, no explanations.

"Grazie, Marcus." I muttered under my breath, sarcastically, I was hardly feeling like thanking him for the situation I was in and his lack of information.

The driver of the taxi looked at me questioningly, but then instead of asking about me he asked "Where I take you in Philadelphia?"

Damn, I hadn't entirely thought that one out yet. "To the airport please." I responded. I was still mentally picturing myself in the fleeing state, I hadn't entirely contemplated where to go.

I wasn't sure I was ready to book a flight, to anywhere. And even less confident, I didn't even know what name to book a flight under. If Marcus had gone to the effort to have all these papers made for me, then there was a sufficient likelihood that my own name wasn't safe. And, judging from the scene I had abandoned at my apartment, it wasn't the government's Immigration Services I needed to be worried about. This was like some neurotic version of a James Bond adventure, but instead of the thrill of the mystery, I was feeling apprehensive and alone.

I had always been somewhat of a loner, I was friendly enough but I rarely let people close enough to be in a position to pry into my life. There were very few people who knew everything about my life, Grandma was one of those chosen few. Marcus was pretty close, late nights led themselves to some unique conversations. He was one of the few guys who didn't spend their time hitting on me, and I admired him even more for treating me like a person and not just another pretty face. At the time being, I didn't think I could call Grandma, and I was more than a little apprehensive at calling Marcus. The handsome gentle man I knew with his dark hair and hazel eyes, it wasn't the same creature that had jumped in and saved me from that man… that monster… that had grabbed me outside my apartment. Right now, I didn't really want an explanation, and I didn't want to hear that he had shot and killed some guy outside my home and he was now looking at prison time as a result. I didn't know if Marcus owned a gun, but he could be very cold and calculating when he needed to be. Maybe it was our job profession or something, I also was cold and calculating on occasion.

In the letter, Marcus had stressed that my safety was in danger as long as I was here in the States, and most likely my safety would also be in danger if I immediately went back to my family in Italy. I found myself wondering how he had drawn this conclusion. His solution, he proposed, was to have me go visit his friend outside London. Her name was Ingrid, and would have the time to answer all of my questions and explain the situation better. I was more than a bit wary of trusting a complete stranger in yet another strange country. But, on the other hand, she was a friend of Marcus, and Marcus was extremely careful of the people he'd consider to be friends. I had put my faith once into Marcus, and it had probably saved my life. I needed to put my faith in him again.

There was something strange about Marcus. When I was with him, I felt safe. It didn't matter who I was or where I was from. So many Americans have this opinion that any location aside from their own country must live in the stone-age, I've been asked if my town had electricity and running water. I didn't get the same ridiculous comments from Marcus that I'd received from other well-meaning students and people. One comment I heard so often I had to learn not to roll my eyes in frustration was the comment "Oh, but your English is so good!". I've only been speaking it for about sixteen years, good heavens if a non-American would actually be fluent in a language they weren't born speaking. And again, that was an example of how Marcus was different. He always accepted me just the way I was. He accepted that I didn't know my parents, and he didn't need to act like a shrink and try to figure out how I felt about it.

I glanced over the note that Marcus had written, hoping to find more information. There were some emergency contact phone numbers, people to call if I wound up in a jam (emergency was underlined three times, I suppose a friendly phone call was out of the question). Ingrid's name was there, and a private investigator named Mick St. John. There were a few other people I didn't recognize, a man working at Interpol, and some financial assistance man named Josef Kostan. Aside from these emergency aid contact information, there wasn't anything useful. I wondered if Marcus expected me to call these people at some point, with the exception of Ingrid. What would I say to them "Yeah, I'm a random friend of Marcus VanBaak, he gave me your phone number once if I needed help. Oh, you don't know Marcus? No, I'm not crazy. No, this isn't a prank call"  
Yeah, that would fly as brilliantly as a lead balloon.

The name Josef Kostan sounded vaguely familiar. I couldn't place it. Maybe I was mistaking it for the name a city that sounded somewhat familiar, near the Aegean Sea. Geography definitely wasn't one of my strong suits. I'd have to look up someday and find out what a Josef Kostan was and why it had an air of familiarity, almost like maybe I'd heard it before.

I dejectedly set down the letter and looked through the large envelope again. There was another letter, this one addressed to Ingrid. I slid a fingernail beneath the flap and opened it easily. If Marcus was going to send me to another continent, then I wasn't going to play fair and wait for some stranger to explain things to me. I pulled out the papers, expecting to learn some answers, but instead I found myself looking at several pages of gibberish. I distinguished some of the writing to be in the Greek alphabet, but the rest of it I didn't even recognize. I had never realized that Marcus knew any other language than English, and I was momentarily surprised by that realization. He would laugh with me when I'd comment about the difference between native and non-native speakers. It had never occurred to me that perhaps he had understood exactly what I was talking about. I wondered what else Marcus had known that he didn't find necessary to share with me.

Then I found myself thoroughly annoyed, Marcus knew me well enough to know that it'd take more than an envelope to keep me from trying to sleuth out this strange situation I was in, so he picked a foreign language to write in Maybe Ingrid was originally from Greece, even though the name was Scandinavian. I also found myself wondering how many different sides of Marcus there were, and wondering when I'd get the chance to give him an earful about this wild-goose-chase I seemed to be on.

A short while later, the taxi arrived at the airport in Philadelphia. I paid the cabdriver, and he took my hand as he looked me in the eye. "Ma'am, you be safe and take good care" he said.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Thank you" I responded, and turned and walked towards the ticket counters. I wasn't even sure what kind of mess I was in, not even to mention what sorts of things or creatures I needed to be careful of. I sighed softly, praying silently that life would work itself out and this would all be some sort of mistake.

I booked myself the next flight to London. If Ingrid was the only person that Marcus trusted enough to send me to, then it probably wouldn't be a fantastic idea to try and sort this entire situation out by myself and travel alone to Australia or something. And I definitely wanted some answers. After I cleared security, I realized that I was no longer Isabella De Mare, but I had flawlessly pretended to be Amanda Johansen, an American citizen going to London on holiday. Maybe I should have gone to university for acting, I mused. Identity aside, I needed to feed myself and probably buy a few snacks before boarding the flight. I went into a nearby shop and bought myself some food and a book of crossword puzzles.

I sat down at a bench near my boarding gate, and as I finished my meal, I heard the flight attendants calling my flight up for boarding.

Shortly thereafter, we were airborne and I was watching the northeastern USA underneath me. For the first time in several hours, I breathed a sigh of relief. Dawn was beginning to break and I was feeling sleepy. It was a long flight and most of the other passengers were sleeping or reading. I closed my eyes.

Instead of falling asleep, I let my mind wander. I found myself trying to sort out how I managed to get into this strange predicament in the first place and when I first realized that something was amiss. I realized slowly that perhaps everything had been slightly muddled or amiss from the very beginning of my life, but those things seemed easy to explain away when they were just small.

I supposed that the muddled parts began when I was young. Sometimes, when things don't add up, a person glosses over the facts and forgets about them. Now, I needed to try and remember what those things were.

I was raised by my grandparents in a small town outside of Milan, Italy. They had told me that my parents had died in a car crash in the USA, and I was sent to live with them when I was very young. My grandparents had my birth certificate re-issued to show that my Aunt and Uncle were my parents. My grandparents are very religious people and I couldn't be baptized into the Roman Catholic Church because my real parents weren't married, Grandma had told me once. Apparently having a birth certificate listing married parents made all the difference. As a teenager, I wondered sometimes if my Grandma ever managed to go to confession and tell the priest that she had lied to him outright so I could be a member of their church. I smiled a little, thinking of my elderly grandmother getting excommunicated from the Church for being a blatant liar.

So, my aunt and uncle weren't my parents. I knew that my mother's name was Francesca, and I had seen pictures of her as a child and as a young woman. I looked a lot like her, the same rich brown hair, and I was tall and lithe like her. My mother was clearly a beautiful woman, the kind of woman that men would look at a second time a they pass on the street. At least that was what I imagined. I was paler than she was, and my eyes weren't the same chocolate brown as hers or anyone else's in my family. I never knew anything about my father. Not his name, nor what he looked like, and nobody in the family even acknowledged that they knew him. My older cousin, Giovanni, teased me when we were kids, telling me that my father was an Italian mobster and I was in hiding. He was always telling me terrible things about my parents whenever we were out of earshot of the adults. My grandmother overheard him say that one day, and boy, was she mad. I never heard what transpired between the two of them, but Giovanni had abruptly stopped teasing me about my parents. When I asked Grandma about my parents when I was older, she abruptly changed the topic saying it wasn't a topic to be discussed.

I was also sick as a child. I got healthier after Grandma took me to a special doctor all the way in Venice, and I pretty much never caught a cold after that. It struck me as odd when I was an older child, that all the children in the village would pretty much catch the same thing. If one child caught the chicken pox, then soon the rest of the children at the school would catch chicken pox, including all of my cousins who attended that school. I never seemed to catch any of the illnesses that the other children had, but Grandma had taken me to a doctor in Venice a lot. He had told Grandma that I was anemic, and I took daily medication because of it. I had liked him because he seemed to know what was wrong with me without having to poke me with needles like my cousins' doctor did sometimes. One summer I had caught a fever after spending the whole day in the warm sunshine playing soccer with my cousins, and Grandma had been so worried because it was a high fever, that she took me to my cousins' doctor who had his business nearby. The doctor had poked me with needles and given me a complete examination, but in the end, he couldn't find anything wrong with me. My cousins never had to go to another city to see a doctor, much less one that was nearly a two and a half hour drive away through the countryside.

I had always wondered about my name. I had a different surname than anyone in my family. De Mare wasn't a usual surname, it meant "of the sea", in Italian. I wondered if it was the name of my father, my real father, but I crossed that off the list of probability when I overheard my grandma talking to Aunt Lucia and talking about my mom having had lived in the USA before I was born. Maybe my father was an American. If he was, the likelihood of him having an unusual Italian surname was probably quite small. Isabella is a common name in Italy, and almost everyone has called me Bella for as long as I can remember, "Bella" in Italian is another word for 'beautiful'.. My middle name is the same as my grandmother's name, our family tradition for generations. My female cousins all have Giacominaas a middle name too. When I went to the village school, my classmates had jokingly called me a mermaid, because of my last name. I suppose its not often that someone's name was literally "beautiful one from the sea" in their own native tongue.

I suppose the town I lived in was a very traditional Italian town. The children I grew up playing with were the grandchildren of the kids my grandmother had grown up playing with herself. My grandparents had five children, which is considered a healthy sized family. My Aunt Lucia was the oldest, and my mother was the second oldest. Grandma had three sons after the two girls. My uncles and my aunt all lived nearby with their families. One of my uncles was a tradesman and spent a lot of time in a nearby seaport town. He and my grandparents insisted that all of us grandchildren needed to learn English, better than what we learned at school. Often we had a tutor come from Milan two times a week and us grandchildren would be cooped up at Grandma's house all afternoon, learning English. In the summer, we would usually host an English speaking language student. They were from many countries, England, Canada, USA, South Africa, Australia, etc. They'd live at my grandparents' house, and talk to us in English, and us cousins would attempt to teach them Italian, and show them what life was like in our town near Milan, and the City of Milan. Sometimes we'd travel to France for a week holiday, and us cousins had a more level playing field with the visiting student, because rarely would the hosted student speak French any better than we could (being near the French border, we learn French in school, but calling myself or the students at my school fluent would be an insult to the French Language). When my grandfather died, Grandma sent me to an American English school in Milan. I missed the town I was raised in, but nearly every weekend I was able to go home and visit my family, so I was never exactly homesick. Most of the students were neither American nor English at the American English school, but we were only allowed to speak English during the schooldays and my English improved very quickly. I had always been interested in medicine, maybe because I got sick differently than my cousins. I would get sick from too much sunlight, caused me fevers, and my anemia problem never went away. Italy wasn't as progressive as the United States in its medicine or healthcare, and when I learned that, I set my sights on getting accepted to a University in the USA where I could get more learning. My Grandma was not happy with that, but by the time I was a teenager, she was starting to get old and frail. She never gave me a reason why she didn't want me to study in the USA, but she told me that she knew what was best for me and strongly tried to dissuade me from choosing the USA. She would rather me stay in Europe: London, Rome, Vienna, Madrid, she didn't care. But I had my heart set, and I was stubborn. While in Milan, I had started volunteering my evenings working at a local hospital. I actually enjoyed it, and I found myself drawn inexplicably to the laboratories, where the pathologists would diagnose tumors, diagnose diseases from the blood, even sometimes get a kidney or part of a liver or lung to make a diagnosis. They were the department who got the bodies to do autopsies, but in contrast to American society, in Italy there were very few autopsies done. I wasn't squeamish, and actually found it fascinating.

With the help of the recommendations from the doctors in Milan, I was accepted to University in New York City to study microbiology, and as part of the work-study program of my student visa, I worked several evenings per week in the hospital morgue. Some people shudder at the thought of dead bodies, and I've always laughed and accused them of being 'Too American'. In Italy, a dead person is simply that. It was a person who had been living, and was no longer doing so. There wasn't anything gross or spooky attached to it, unless the body was starting to decompose. It was in the morgue, the first week of my internship, that I had met Marcus. Over the course of two years, he had become my closest friend.

Marcus wasn't a typical guy. He was brilliant, but not in some nerdy or geeky way. When we'd get a body in the morgue, he would sometimes know the cause of death before the Medical Examiner had performed an autopsy. When I asked him about it, he'd shrug his shoulder and tell me it was a lucky guess. But he never guessed wrong. Marcus, I had learned quickly, had his own secrets. He never talked about his own family, and I suspected he was a drug dealer of some sort. I pretended to not take notice when he'd hand packages to non-hospital people on some nights. He never seemed to be using drugs, at least not that I could tell. So, if he had a business on the side, it was nothing that I needed to concern myself with.

I had been so nervous when I started my internship. It was a double whammy, not only adjusting to University, but also adjusting to an entirely different culture and society. The one thing that had felt familiar was my work. Marcus and I were pretty much alone in the evenings, but he was scrutinizing me, sizing me up, as he showed me the ropes. One of the first nights, I was moving a body and I had accidentally nicked myself with a (thankfully) clean scalpel. The gash on my arm wasn't deep, but it was bloody. I cursed in my native tongue, then moved to wash it up. Marcus had seen my stupid mistake, and came over to check out how much damage I had inflicted upon myself. After cleaning it, I let him check it out. As he was assessing it, I swear he closed his eyes for a quick moment as though going through a mental file, or smelling me. It kind of weirded me out, but maybe it was an American thing. When he opened his eyes, he looked deeply into my blue eyes for a moment. I cocked my head to the side, puzzled at his actions. He fumbled for a second, maybe I had embarrassed him, and he told me to go upstairs to get stitched up in the ER. I had shrugged him off and applied a bandage. I always seemed to heal fast from injuries, and I told him that my strong Italian genes must have something to do with it. He gave me another funny look but didn't say anything.  
Despite my stupidity the first week on the job, Marcus and I managed to hit off a good friendship, because we were nearly inseparable after that, as though he took it upon himself to be a protective big-brother figure. Which seemed a little silly because he couldn't possibly be much older than I was. But it was nice having someone to lean on, to turn to, in the middle of a large city in a foreign country.

I found myself drifting to sleep, thinking about my friendship with Marcus was calming, and with the hum of the airplane and my own exhaustion, soon I was fast asleep.

* * *

_This is the place and time, now that you've read my chapter, that I get on my knees and beg of you to please let me know what you think of my story thus far._

If I'm too slow in making sense, please let me know. I needed a 'background' chapter, so I could explain who Bella is, many of you notice she isn't quite a 'normal' human. Those familiar with Moonlight are able to start making some fairly accurate guesses about the characters. I guess its not a total surprise being a Moonlight fiction. But I am having fun :)

More details to discuss the facts that Bella does not yet know, and her link to Josef, hopefully to answer some lingering questions about Bella's life

This is a totally different writing style for me. I'm not entirely sure I'm pulling it off as best I could, which is why your opinions mean so much to me. I'm feeling ever so slightly insecure, and the people reading this are able to make all the difference, by sharing their input.

I thank you for taking the time to read my story.


	3. Marcus

_Author's Note:_

_I realized that another character needs to start explaining some of the background that Bella doesn't know herself. I'll probably continue this throughout the story.  
_

_After receiving a few messages condemning me for 'America-bashing', I wanted to address this for anyone who felt offended by any of the character comments in the past chapters. I am proud to be a citizen of the USA, and I proudly serve my country. I can't apologize for things I have seen or have knowledge of, but I am sorry that by sharing those aspects, that I offended you somehow.  
_

_**I'm not sure who the Moonlight characters belong to anymore, but it certainly isn't me.**_

* * *

Marcus

My name is Marcus or Marcellus. It really depends on the century and the locale. Its hard to be the same person for too long in the human-based society and it seems that I change surnames every several years almost the same way that people throw out an old sofa.. I've known Bella for about two and a half years. I met her when I learned that she had an internship in the morgue. Honestly, I didn't think much of her and I was trying to find a diplomatic way to encourage the Dean of the university to find another location for her study program that didn't involve the morgue.. The hospital morgue, at least here in the dense city, is not a good place to stick a human. Too much opportunity to see too many things, and it'd been awhile since I'd had to forcefully remove some human who had learned too much about my kind.

When I first met Bella, I realized she didn't belong down here, the sole reason being because she was a human. I was plotting and scheming to get her internship moved somewhere else, or maybe just help her disappear myself so she wouldn't become suspicious of the transactions that occur sometimes down here. I presume there are many morgues just like the one here at the university hospital. I'm happy in the morgue. I got my MD sixty years ago, and I generally keep up on human medicine, seeing if the latest research could be applicable to our kind. I realized I actually enjoy dead humans to living ones, and my profession continues to allow me to be a source of 'eyes and ears' for our community. Besides, it has the perk of free meals everyday.. While many of our kind prefer fresh blood from paid donors, I prefer to have no link to the blood that nourishes me. Humans have too many conflicting emotions and I just prefer not to deal with them under any circumstances.

I've known Josef for awhile. I'm not even sure how long, but we'd seen the rise and fall of some great nations together. We drifted apart in the latter years, after we came to America. I found New York to my liking, especially with so many arriving from Europe, I could keep an eye on the comings and goings and help shut down trouble before it had time to get too far mainland. I never moved from New York. I've changed names and boroughs and morgues a handful of times, but New York is a big city where humans rarely regard other humans, much less us vampires who intentionally keep a low profile. Josef has run a successful hedge fund business for many years. With my investments in his company, I can confidently say that finances aren't a concern in my life, and possibly even my lifetime. Josef is good at what he does, I do have to give that guy credit.

I had met Josef's Sarah fifty years ago, I suppose I was one of the few people Josef trusted with her in her state. I'd never seen him so distraught. I couldn't comfort him, but I could make her comfortable, and set her up with the equipment she needed. I made the weekly deliveries to the brownstone, and I have for fifty years. I found myself wishing I knew Sarah as the person she was, even as a human.. It was clear that she meant a lot to Josef, and she must have been someone incredible to have caught his eye and his heart. He's always been a ladies' man, but after Sarah, Josef truly turned over a new leaf, marked with a sadness that many people wouldn't recognize. He tried too hard to hide it, and maybe that was one of the reasons why it was so obvious to me.

Aside from the weekly deliveries, taking provisions to the brownstone, it was now more a duty - not something I contemplated very deeply, I hadn't seen Josef for a few decades. That's just the way things go, we lose track of our old friends and enemies, but they're never far from us.. There's enough word of mouth, that we couldn't exactly fall off the face of the earth, but I didn't know what name he went by or where he lived.

It was a total shock to me, when Bella, a brand new student from Italy, had accidentally cut her arm. I was not going out of my way to make her feel welcome, and as a result, I made her very nervous around me, as though I were a condescending professor. From across the room, the scent of her blood stopped me in my tracks. Not because it was a delicate blood type, a delectable treat for many of the warm-blood-drinkers in our society…. I was dumbfounded because I had scented Josef Kostan in her blood. I drew closer, equally mystified and inquisitive. I examined her wound. What had smelled so strongly of that one vampire also had a streak of human A negative, most likely her biological mother.

I stared at Bella, still dumbfounded at my realization as to what she was, who she was. I was searching her blue eyes, looking for a falter, looking to see if she herself had any knowledge of who she was. But she was an innocent, she had apparently no reason to think she was anyone but human, and I was willing to bet the thought of vampirism wasn't something she'd contemplated.

Bella definitely had a unique biological make up. There was no explainable reason for it, unless Josef had contributed his genetics which had then grown and developed as a somewhat human creature.

Later I learned that she had no idea about her parentage, and aside from the joke about an unknown father in the Mafia, she didn't seem to concerned about her parents. Perhaps for the best, that she wasn't out actively seeking parents. Now I realized she wasn't safe and it wasn't the Mafia she need be concerned about. I didn't want to be the one to drop the bombshell on her, tell her that her father was someone I knew but that it was physiologically impossible for him to be her father. I didn't want to be the one to have to decide what to do with her when and if she learned about our kind. She clearly never contemplated that she could be anything except a human. I didn't want to shatter her reality.

We quickly became friends. I saw to that. I took an oath to protect Sarah at all costs, and Bella, well, she too was sired by Josef, though not in a way I could explain physiologically. The least I could do was protect her life. In many ways she was comparable to Sarah, no way to protect herself, no concept of who she was or the danger she was in. A true innocent. Exceedingly difficult to find anything like that in the vampire species. With Bella not knowing she was a partial vampire, under whatever circumstances they were, she didn't realize that she was in some serious need of protection. Especially because she was unmistakably Josef's, to any vampire passing her on the street, she was just another human. She had completely fooled me for a few shifts. But her blood told an entirely different story, a very strong story, as it belonged to such a powerful vampire.. That simple fact was enough to get her killed without much provocation by many other vampires who had crossed Josef over the years and managed to live long enough to hold a grudge. Josef had his good qualities and bad qualities, but Bella… She was a genuinely nice girl, gorgeous with a fantastic personality. A gem. If I wasn't so committed to ensuring her safety, if she wasn't this unknown half-breed freak of nature, maybe there would have been sparks flying someday.

I learned the name of her mother, Francesca San Luca. That name didn't ring any bells, but I didn't exactly expect it to. I have not been aware of what Josef does in his personal time in many years, and it wasn't anything I was particularly eager to learn. He's always been a little on the eccentric side. But still, it was none of my business.

At my next delivery to the brownstone later that week after learning Bella's mother's name, I asked Polly, Sarah's nurse, about the whereabouts of Josef Kostan. Her eyes widened for a second, as though she had never been in a position to be asked to give out Josef's personal information. She stammered a few times, and I realized that I needed to let her handle this on her own level. Aside from my weekly deliveries, she had no reason to know me or trust me. It was probably better that way. Josef trusted me with his most precious secret, but I wouldn't have wanted Polly to just go handing out Josef's address to just anyone who asked for it, and I was pleased that Polly had enough of a human brain to be cautious. I didn't want Polly to consider me as anything aside from a professional deliverer of necessary goods, and I'd been careful to steer clear from the woman and not enter into conversations. I could trust her, and she could trust me, but that trust was only as deep as the wellbeing of Sarah.

Instead of Josef, she gave me a phone number for a private investigator named Mick St. John. She said that he could handle whatever my problems were with Kostan. I definitely wasn't in the mood to play games, but I could understand Polly's concern and I respected it. She'd been keeping Josef's most precious secret, and she'd need something that involved Sarah directly before she was willing to give out Josef's personal information.

When I had a private moment later in the morgue, I dialed the number that Polly had given to me. Mick answered the phone on the third ring.

"Mick St. John" was the closest thing he had to a greeting. At least he sounded professional. I wouldn't have expected anything less from someone who knew Josef.

I had to assume he was in the loop with Josef. Josef kept very few close friends, so it wasn't much of a gamble, but I rarely discuss my business with people I don't know personally.

"Tell Kostan that Marcellus Galea from NYC called." I said, using my given name, the same name that Josef has known me for the last 200 years.

"I need to know if the name Francesca San Luca, is familiar to him, about twenty years ago. It's a relatively urgent matter."

Mick clearly didn't know me, and asked who I was and why I was calling him and not Josef directly. He wanted the background on Francesco De Luca and how she relates to Josef. Yes, this man was definitely a private investigator. He'd just have to get his panties in a twist, because I only needed St. John to help me contact Josef.

I gave Mick St. John my phone number, and hung up on the man. I had an odd feeling about him. The only St. John I had ever heard of had been one of Coraline's mistakes, and I definitely wasn't going to share information that would wind up with that conniving vindictive woman. Maybe they had the same surname, but I definitely wasn't going to change my mind over a potential name similarity. Besides, I don't share information with people unless I explicitly trusted them. Even if St. John was Josef's right hand man, he still wasn't anyone I knew, much less trusted. I suppose inherent wariness is a strong trait in our vampire breed. It is what allowed us to survive for thousands of years.

It was hardly a minute before my phone started ringing. That St. John guy must really be connected to the inner circle of Josef's life. Maybe he was more than just a private investigatory employed by Josef. I'd probably find out sometime, but at the moment, St. John hardly registered as a concern to me.

I opened the phone, putting the phone to my ear. Before I could even issue a word of greeting, Josef launched forward.

"Marcellus, whats wrong? Polly hasn't called, but is there something wrong with my Sarah?" Josef asked, his voice filling with concern

"No, Sarah is fine, Josef. Polly too, for that matter." God, I hate being the bearer of bad news.

"Josef, you have an entirely different problem happening out here."

"Is this about Francesca San Luca?" he asked, and I could sense that he was going through his mental rolodex of women and tastes over the many many years that he had sampled.

"Yes," I responded.

"Is she in trouble?" he asked, puzzled, his voice filling with concern again. Hmm, perhaps he'd had some relationship with her, something post-Sarah-trauma.

"I wouldn't know, I've never met her," I answered truthfully.

"Then what's the problem?" he asked, the tone of voice changing, as though I had discovered a long discarded pair of socks. Francesca must be old news to him, some distant memory, perhaps no more than a blood type and a few moments of intimacy on whatever level.

"Francesca had a daughter. Her name is Isabella." I responded carefully.

"Humans have children, Marcellus, they've been doing this for quite some time, Thank you for deciding to inform me of your recent discovery." Josef's usual glib manner was shining through, and I could tell that he was mentally dismissing me and the phone call.

"Iosif," I said slowly, letting the accented word roll off my tongue, knowing that would help him remember that we had more history than just that of me being the delivery man. Plus I know he detested the Romanian pronunciation of his name. It didn't fit with the 'new age' persona he adopted awhile ago.

"Bella is nineteen years old. She is the new intern at the morgue here in the city, exchange student from Italy or something. I don't know what kind of relationship you had with Francesca. I don't really want to know right now, either."

Josef interrupted. I should have expected that. "Francesca was A negative. I was going through that phase awhile ago."

Okay, so Francesca was a Freshie. No big surprise there. There are hundreds, thousands of women he's sampled over the years.

His mind had wandered to food I think, when he asked what Bella's blood type was.

"Bella's not A negative," I responded, lacking sufficient words to stop beating around the bush succinctly.

"Mmm… Francesca's daughter probably has the same sweet northern Italian delicate flavor." Josef said, no doubt his mind had wandered to thinking about food.

"No. She doesn't.," I said coldly, trying to bring the conversation back to the topic on hand.

"Well then, for what purpose are you digging around for my former Freshies? Its been a pleasant walk down memory lane, Marcellus, but I do have a business to run and things to attend to."

"Iosif, those things can probably wait."

Josef sighed. "Pray tell then my dear Marcellus, what would possibly stop my world so suddenly that I would neglect my business, something I've spent over two hundred years putting together?"

Sarcasm and arrogance, those two words could probably define Josef 95 percent of the time accurately. It was actually somewhat refreshing to hear the voice of my old friend.

"For starters, Isabella has your blood running through hers. She's human, I think to an extent, but her blood distinctly smells like vampire, there's no mistaking the scent. Bella reeks of you in her blood, Josef. Not just some casual passing vampire scent, but her bone marrow is churning out vampire tainted blood. And your scent is unmistakable."

I heard a somewhat strangled sound on the other end of the line, but I continued to make sure that the point was clear.

"And that, my dear Josef, makes you a daddy in a very human sense. Congratulations."

I heard the phone clatter on the floor on the other end. I heard a foreign curse as he picked up the phone, and if I guessed right, he was now locating himself a seat.

"This isn't possible" Josef said into the phone after a moment.

"I'm not discussing statistics with you, Josef."

"I wasn't asking you to, Marcellus. It absolutely is impossible for me to be a father of a human child. It just doesn't work that way. You and I both know it can't happen, it's a completely impossible situation."

"Well, then 'Impossible' has no fangs, likes her steaks rare and can't tolerate sunlight well. 'Impossible' has a serious nocturnal habit and probably makes you look robust in contrast to her paleness. 'Impossible' has ice-blue eyes and they change dependent on her moods. 'Impossible' doesn't catch human ailments. 'Impossible' has no idea that her blood reeks of you.. 'Impossible' never met her father, and her own body cannibalizes her own blood, and that same blood is your blood," I replied. Sometimes that man could be thicker than a brick, but this was a delicate issue, I could understand his disbelief.

"I don't have any explanations to give, I'm simply telling you the facts," I continued.

Josef cursed again.

" 'Impossible' also has a name," I said. "Isabella De Mare. Beautiful young lady. She believes she's fully human and I am not inclined to tell her anything else. I'll do my best to keep her safe, but if 'Impossible' is connected to you, eventually she'll need more than just me to ensure her safety."

I could almost hear him thinking over the phone line, trying to wrap his mind around the entire conversation, trying to figure out what to do. This is usually the time where he comes up with some half-baked idea in the heat of his stress, if I remember correctly.

"I'm sorry Josef, but I need to get going." A complete lie, but I didn't want him to decide that his problem should be my responsibility for the rest of her life or un-dead life, however it worked. "You know how to get a hold of me now. Call me later. Have a drink."

Josef mumbled something, and I hung up the phone.

I mused as I returned to the morgue. All things considering, Josef handled it quite well. Now he is the proud sire of two technically impossible situations, both Sarah and now Isabella. Maybe there are some archaic documents that can help me try and sort out what is going on. I'm not aware of anyone creating a human-like child, nor was I aware of any other situation that had led to where Sarah is today.

I'd have to go through some of the older documents, I had realized.

I also realized this was going to be the beginning of something stranger and possibly messier than I was accustomed to.

I had arrived back at the morgue and saw that we were having an exceptionally quiet night. So quiet that Bella was catching a few minutes of shut-eye in one of the bunk rooms adjacent to the changing room. I looked at her innocent face, completely at peace in sleep.

"Bella, you have no idea of the crazy mess you've stirred up" I sighed softly, then walked out of the bunk room, closing the door quietly behind me.

I knew I needed to protect this innocent one, but I wasn't entirely sure how. Only time would tell what kind of danger she posed to herself, and what kind of danger she'd be in, being sired by Josef, in the most non-conventional vampiristic terms, but possibly completely normal in terms of human parentage. Josef made enemies. Many of them. I'm sure there are many, even in New York who would torture her, kill her, because of her link to him. As long as she could keep her own blood inside her, maybe we'd be okay for awhile.

I sighed again. Not only did I have no idea how to classify Bella, but I had no idea how to expect the reactions of Josef. Her… father? I had said it impetuously before while talking to Josef, but letting the thought sink in, it was difficult to assimilate in my mind. He's a vampire with a mostly human child. Josef was truly some freak of nature. Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same spot.

In all of these centuries, I have never heard of any of this happening to any other vampire. Perhaps I should have asked Josef, years ago, about his family tree. Maybe he had more secrets than he knew about.

I picked up my phone to call one of my closest friends. We'd been 'partners in crime' for decades until she had moved to London to pursue a love interest. I realized it was now late morning in Europe, and I'd be waking her from a peaceful slumber, but right now I wasn't sure I cared.

A sleepy voice answered on the fifth ring.

"Ingrid" I said, cutting to the chase, "I need your help finding someone. Do you remember Roudeen, our re-con guy from yesteryear?"

Several minutes later, I had the phone number of the guy I needed, apparently he now went by Ryder. I was grateful that Ingrid was much more social than I was and had kept better track of our old friends. If anyone could search all of the information available and make sense of it, whether it be computer files or ancient documents, Ryder would be the guy. He could help me figure out Josef's story, and also help me track down Francesca De Luca, if she was alive, dead or un-dead.

The morgue phone line rang then, and I had to add calling Ryder to my mental 'to do' list. After answering the morgue phone, I learned the Coroner was bringing in a body for autopsy. Apparently our body had decided to take on a rival gang and lost. So now the Medical Examiner would get to perform an autopsy and decide which bullet of the many had been the one which was fatal.

Humans. I sighed and shook my head.

Well, at least I'd have something to do, instead of sit here and ruminate all night about Francesca, Josef and Bella. I went to go rouse the fair-skinned sleeping beauty, so we could handle this incoming delivery together.

* * *

_This is the part where I beg of you to please share with me what you have thought of this last chapter._


	4. Meeting Ingrid

**Moonlight is not mine. No surprise there.**

* * *

**Isabella  
**

I had awakened after a brief sleep on the plane. Now that the throes of exhaustion were dealt with, I went back to the adrenaline overload. Despite my anxiety, I felt somewhat safe on the plane. Whatever, whoever was after me wouldn't have boarded a plane in Philadelphia, and that knowledge was soothing. For the next several hours I was untouchable.

I found myself wishing that I had someone to talk to. Talking sometimes helped me calm down when life seemed overwhelming. I still felt like I was in some twisted up variant of a spy novel, but the thrill of the adventure seemed to be lacking something significant. Like a point, a meaning, or an explanation. If I had known who the 'bad guys' were or what the objective was, maybe I'd feel less apprehensive.

The human mind is strange, I mused. As long as it has purpose, it can overcome any obstacle. But in absence of an objective, all of that constructive energy can manifest upon its own self, almost like a mental implosion. My mind wasn't ready to implode or explode, but instead of enjoying the thrill of the hunt or the delight in the adventure, I found myself edgy and questioning everything. I was waiting for the world to come tumbling down, but I didn't have the slightest idea how to fix it or even what to do about it.

I found myself questioning my past, my future, and my whole world. A few months ago, my only drive was to continue my studies at university. Now, I felt like I had perhaps taken my entire higher education and thrown it in the toilet. I didn't even call my professors to explain what would be my absence. Maybe that was for the best, because I had no idea what I would have told them as an explanation.

"I'm sorry, I won't be attending your class for a few days because I'm fleeing the country."

"I'm sorry I will be missing class for an unknown amount of time due to an unknown reason."

"I was attacked by a monster and I can't attend class now."

"I think I'm starting to lose my mind, and I decided to take a sabbatical in order to attempt to find it."

"I seem to be an anti-thesis of reality, so I better not attend class lest I turn the classroom into a black hole."

"Science fiction is so overrated, so I decided to involuntarily participate in some unworldly activities. Please excuse my absence."

No, there was nothing I could have explained to anyone at the university about my absence. I'd have time to sort it out later. Right now I had other concerns. My biggest concern was who or what would be waiting for me when I arrived in London. Just because the plane was safe didn't automatically mean that whatever was happening wasn't waiting for me at my destination. I realized that my best chances for safety would be a disguise. There wasn't much I could do in terms of changing myself, especially not in an airplane. I glanced around the partially filled plane, contemplating my options. I needed a change of pace I decided, and got up to use the restroom.

It didn't matter which airline one chose, the bathrooms were all ridiculously small. After washing my hands, I exited the restroom, ready to go fetch a snack I'd put in my backpack before the flight.

As I walked down the aisle of the plane, I caught sight of a little girl, maybe three or four, running down the aisle towards me. She was kind of cute, even though I usually don't pay particular attention to kids. They're usually snotty, wet and loud. I was wrangled into babysitting my younger cousins enough when I lived nearby, that I thought I'd had enough of kids until I was ready to go make some of my own. The little girl was wearing a white dress with a ruffled hem and a pale pink sweater. She had a matching pink bow in her hair and tights and cute shoes. At least I thought her sweater was pale pink. It was hard to tell because it was streaked with something that resembled red berries and soda or chocolate milk. The little tyke must have been busy on this flight. Her parents were crazy to have dressed her so nicely for a flight. I shrugged mentally, recalling that in some places it's a very European tradition to dress the children like little dolls regardless of the clothing's usefulness.

The little girl came to an abrupt stop before she saw me. For a moment it looked like she would turn around and run back up the aisle of the plane. Just then, the plane encountered some turbulence, sending the little girl sprawling on her backside and bumping her head lightly on one of the seat frames. Being taller, and not running, I was able to steady myself by holding onto the seats on each side of the aisle. I managed to stay upright, but my focus was now on the scene unfolding in front of me. The little girl sat up, rubbing her head. A balding man, sitting in a seat nearby, asked the girl if she was okay. As expected for any child, she howled for her mamma, then stood up and started running up the aisle, only to trip over her little dressy shoes a few feet later. Again, she howled for her mother, and I couldn't tell if she was hurt or if she was preparing to throw a temper tantrum. She was near the row of seats where I had been sitting, so I squatted down beside her and asked if she needed help. She looked at me blankly. Realizing that she had not earlier used the American word for mother, I went through the dregs of my French, maybe something would make sense. I asked her if she was hurt, and she shook her head no. I asked her what happened, and she answered that she had been going to ask for more juice for her baby brother. I smiled as I realized that she switched from French to Italian halfway through her explanation. My Italian, thank goodness, was much better than my French.  
Switching gears to Italian, I asked if she still needed to get juice from the stewardesses for her brother. She nodded her head, and I offered my hand and asked if she'd care to accompany me while we went to obtain some juice. She wiped her eyes, then stood up and put her slightly wet and sticky hand in mine. I gently straightened the bow in her brown hair, and smiled down at her when her dark brown eyes looked up at me.

We walked to the back of the cabin and asked the stewardess if they had any juice. The stewardess looked at the little girl and asked her what kind of juice she wanted. The English of the stewardess (a nice round American accent) earned a blank look from the small child. I smiled softly to myself, the multi-language confusion reminding me of parts of my own childhood. The little girl turned to me, and in French, asked me what the lady was saying. Not knowing how to respond in French, I asked her in Italian if the baby brother wanted apple juice. She nodded her head and, using the Italian words for 'apple juice', but phrasing the rest of her words in French, told me that apple juice was her baby brother's favorite.

The stewardess looked at the two of us as though we were some form of aliens aboard her plane. Either she didn't understand a word of what we were saying and thought we were strange because the accents between Italian and French are so different. Or else she understood what we were saying and thought we were just strange for mashing together more than one language. Either way, I didn't care. When I confirmed with the stewardess that we wanted some apple juice, the stewardess reached into a refrigerator compartment and handed a small container of apple juice to the little girl. The little girl thanked the stewardess, in Italian, and I translated her appreciation into English.

Walking back down the aisles of the plane, I asked the little girl what her name was. "Evalina" was her response. I asked her the name of her baby brother. Her response was a little different than I was expecting.

"Their names are Donatello and Domenico" she had replied.

"There are more than one baby brother?" I asked, confused, but grateful that at least we were talking in Italian, a language where I wouldn't miss the subtleties of context.

"Yes, there are two" Evalina told me, holding up two fingers to confirm, in the event I didn't know how to count to two.

"And these two are both baby brothers of yours?"

"Yup, and mommy asked me to go get juice for Domenico because she was too busy with the babies to do it herself" the little girl said.

Suddenly I realized that the little girl must have twin brothers, which would explain why she was unaccompanied and running down the aisle of the plane, and why she kept using the plural word for baby.

"Well, lets get the juice to Domenico then," I said as we continued down the aisles.

Toward the middle of the plane, there were two little boys wearing identical sailor suits and looking very similar to Evalina in complexion. They were somewhere between nine months and a year old, judging by their sizes. One boy was sitting on the lap of a man, playing contentedly with a ring of bright plastic keys. In the row ahead of the man, the other little boy was fussing in the arms of a woman, chewing on his fingers as though he was teething. I surmised that the unhappy one must be Dominico, and Evalina confirmed my suspicions by going and planting a kiss on the cheek of the fussy one and gently telling him to be quiet because she had the apple juice for him.

The man stood up and, in perfect English, thanked me for helping his daughter. He said that he had heard that she made a commotion but he was changing a diaper at the moment and couldn't extricate himself to assist his daughter. After helping the little girl on her mission to get juice, I was ready to fade back to the shadows for the relative quietness of my own seat, so I told him it was no problem and I was glad I was able to help.

I turned around and walked back to my own seat, thankful that my row of three seats was completely empty except for me. I pulled out a snack from my backpack and a bottle of water. I also pulled out my computer, and turned it on, deciding to edit a term paper I'd been working on. I didn't want to consider whether or not the document had any purpose now, but it did give me something to focus on. The microbiology class had spent most of the semester growing bacteria and killing it with different antibiotics until we started finding resistant bacteria which would then go and repopulate the culture. It was pretty cool, and I had enjoyed the class. I hated writing papers. My English was okay, but I would make an occasional mistake using the wrong tense of a verb or something, just often enough that someone would see the typo. Spelling/grammar checker was a godsend but it couldn't catch everything. So, I'd proofread any document a few times more than I needed to, to double check any mistakes I could have made.

I had been working on the document for nearly an hour, my eyes were starting to glaze over. I was contemplating closing my essay and opening up a game of solitaire on the computer, when I saw Evalina climbing into the aisle seat in my row, then climbing to the middle seat where she sat down beside me.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "I wanted to find you earlier, but my daddy said I couldn't." Her Italian was accented as though she learned it from someone who lived in the southern part of Italy. But hey, at least I could understand her.

"Did something change, so now you can come find me?" I asked, as she reached for my hand and wrapped her small hand around it.

She looked up at me and smiled a cat-ate-the-canary grin. "He fell asleep, so I came to find you," she replied.

I laughed at this precocious child, and she relaxed as though she thought I'd be mad at her.

After telling her that we needed to let her family know where she was so they didn't worry, the two of us wrote a note, in English, explaining that Evalina was accompanying me while the parents slept, and giving my seat number so they could find her. We went over to the two rows that her family had commandeered, and Evalina showed me which was her seat. I gave her the note and she climbed around her brother's car-seat and set it in her own seat.

We then went back over to my row and I proceeded to briefly search my hard drive for a movie or game appropriate for a kid. Not finding anything better, I taught Evalina how to play solitaire on the computer. It probably had rules that were more complicated than most children her age could handle, but she was extremely bright. We discussed the rules, and we spent the better part of an hour playing and chattering about the different names for the cards in different languages. It was clear that French was the language she was more comfortable in, but her Italian was understandable, and for that, I was grateful. I learned that she was four and a half and that her brothers were having a birthday in the following month. I also learned a lot more than I wanted to know, the names of her friends and which schools they go to, the names of her cousins and where they live, how she tried horseback riding while she was visiting the USA but she didn't like the cowboy hats. She was sitting in my lap helping me 'sort out' the cards on the computer when her dad showed up, sans baby brother.

He apologized to me, in English, for his daughter showing up and bothering me. I smiled, because I actually had enjoyed myself, and I told him it wasn't a problem. I introduced myself, Amanda Johansen, making sure to round out the middle vowels to sound as though it were an American pronunciation. I hate the way that the Americans say some of their vowels, but this is the time for taking on a new act. He introduced himself as Franco taking his children and wife to, visit extended family before the holiday rush. He turned to his daughter and, in Italian, lectured her for leaving after he had told her to stay in her seat, and for coming and bothering the nice lady.

Well, that explained where she knew Italian from. I wasn't sure how to hide my Italian speaking roots from him. Anyone hearing my accent would know that I'd learned Italian from northern Italy, and depending on who knew that information, it could potentially be a problem. The father continued his lecture to his little girl, and I realized that in the same way that his family had a very low risk of having an association with whatever 'bad guys' I was avoiding, hanging out with their family may be the disguise I had been contemplating earlier. If someone was looking for me at the airport, they'd be looking for a single person and may not give a second glance to people with children.

The father and daughter were wrapping up their conversation about harassing strangers and listening to parents, when I told the father, in English, that I hadn't minded keeping an eye on Evalina for the last hour or so, that the two of us actually had some fun and that I had learned all the names of cards in both Italian and French from her, and I had worked on teaching her the English names. He looked confused, and asked me how I managed to communicate with Evalina, because she spoke extremely little English.

I told him that I spoke a little Italian, and with a little creative language, gestures and laughter, we managed to have a good time. He smiled, probably imagining the situation, and I invited him to come sit with us if there wasn't a baby needing him at the moment. After letting me know that both of the boys were still asleep, he sank into the aisle seat. Evalina resumed to plinking around with the cards on the computer, occupying herself. I asked Franco where Evalina had learned her Italian from, curious about which area in southern Italy her accent originated from. He started telling me about himself growing up in near Naples, but going to university in Catania, explaining that Evalina's accent probably reflects that his own accent is a combination of childhood and university in different dialect provinces of Italy. Franco asked me where I learned my Italian from, and I said that my grandparents and extended cousins still live near the coast up north and I picked it up here and there.

Moving to Italian, I said that I only speak a little and I apologized for my bad grammar (a complete lie, but any person learning a foreign language that they are not fluent in, they apologize, I had to hold up the charade). I said that I was from California, and on my way to go on holiday to London, possibly Scotland too.

Evalina took the moment to set the story straight with her father. "Amanda doesn't talk a little Italian. She talks a LOT of Italian, but only talks a little of French". I sighed inwardly. Out of the mouths of babes.

The father had looked at me questioningly, and in English, I responded that I had spent several summers there with my extended family but I wasn't necessarily fluent with the language of Italy. That seemed to appease the father's questioning of my background and history.

In perfect English, he started telling me about his life and his interests. He was a neurologist in Naples, and after meeting his wife on a business trip to Bordeaux. It was love at first sight, he said, and they moved outside of Paris after they married, to raise their family. They've been on holiday, first visiting some of the wife's cousins in Colorado, now they were headed to London to visit some of his college buddies for a couple weeks The mother speaks French, and Evalina goes to an Italian speaking nursery school to help with making Italian a solid second language for her.

I smiled and told Franco that I was grateful that she spoke Italian, because I was worried I wouldn't be able to communicate with her because my French is atrocious. Franco laughed as that.

We started talking a little about my life, going to college, a time a faucet broke in my apartment spraying water around and having to call a plumber. He asked about my family and I said that my parents passed away in a sailboat incident off the coast of California and that I didn't have any siblings. Well, some of that was true, but most of it wasn't. I changed topics back to his own family, and learned that his wife had wanted a large family, and after several years of trying, Evalina was born. They started again with fertility treatments, and this time they had Donatello and Domenico. He told he thought his family was a good size, the statistics for childhood death is much less than it was several generations ago, and raising two infants at once had really been a strain.

As if on cue, one of the babies started wailing from a few rows forward, followed shortly thereafter by a second identical wail. "They're awake", said Evalina, stating the obvious, and we stood up and walked over to the screaming brothers. We watched as Franco juggled one baby out of his car-seat, then try to balance the first screaming baby while he unfastened the second baby. Holding both children, jiggled them softly, trying to help settle them down. Realizing that they were probably wet, hungry or both, and that the mother was out cold, probably from exhaustion, I asked to both Evalina and Franco if I could help by feeding/changing one of the children. After asking me if I wouldn't mind, he told me how much he appreciated the extra pair of hands. He handed me a baby and a diaper and a disposable towel and several disposable wipes, and handed Evalina a bottle of milk/formula/etc. Evalina and I trooped back over to my row, where we'd have more room. I learned that the screaming child I was changing was the one named Donatello, and after I changed his wet diaper, he was a much happier little guy. I decided we'd deal with dirty diapers later, and rolled up the dirty disposable diaper and taped the adhesive and stowed it under the aisle seat, grateful that it hadn't been a particularly soiled sort of diaper. I sat down, cradling the infant. Evalina sat down in the seat beside me and she 'helped' feed her baby brother. After Donatello was finished, he seemed completely content to pull himself up on my thighs and bounce up and down. It was clear that Evalina was Donatello's hero in his little life, and he giggled and laughed every time she'd make a face for him or run her fingers through his short chestnut hair. Several minutes later, the airline announced that it was preparing to make a landing. It was time for Donatello to go sit in his car seat. The mother was still sleeping soundly, and the father was playing with one happy Domenico. Evalina and I put Donatello into the car seat nearest the mother, and then Evalina asked her father very nicely if she could stay with me for the rest of the flight. I told him that it was no burden and I enjoyed her company and I'd be happy to keep her company for the rest of the flight if he didn't mind. He actually looked somewhat relieved, and after rummaging through a bag of carry-on items, he handed Evalina a clean, pristine white frilly dress and a white sweater. He looked up at me.

"Do you mind helping her change, I'm afraid she's gotten a little dirty on this trip" he said. I told him I didn't mind at all, but in my own mind, I was questioning this guy's sanity. Three children under the age of five and he's worried about white dresses and apparel. I shook my head softly as Evalina and I walked back to my row.

After arriving at my row, I dropped the new clothes and told the little girl that we were going to wash her hands and face and have her go potty before putting on her new beautiful dress. She obediently went with me to the restroom. I helped her wash her face, keeping the door open because the two of us did not fit in the tiny room. I asked if she could go potty by herself and she declared she could do it without help. Afterwards, I helped her wash her hands, taking the moment to take her now-messy hair and French braid the brown silken hair, and tie it with the pale pink ribbon. Evalina approved of the new hairstyle, saying that she now looked like a princess. A princess with a dirty dress I reminded her, and when we got back to the row of my seat, I helped the little girl take off her soiled pink sweater and her white dress. I slipped the new white dress over her head and fastened the buttons in the back. I helped her into the new sweater and asked her why she has to stay so clean.

"Mommy says that we need to look nice when we travel so that people will think we're a beautiful family," Evalina replied, as though it were a very obvious answer. I held my tongue.

I handed the discarded dress and sweater back forward to the father who was rummaging through one of the diaper bags. After returning to my seat, I made sure Evalina and myself were both buckled up, and several minutes later we were landing at London Heathrow Airport. I expected Evalina to go running towards her parents, and I was quite surprised when, as I stood up to place my backpack on my back and fetch my small duffle bag, that she asked if I could carry her. I smiled, she was a very sweet girl. Looking a few rows ahead of us, it was clear that the parents had their hands full with kids and gear, so maybe Evalina knew something I didn't about traveling and chaos. Franco looked over at the two of us and I gave a 'thumbs up'. As we disembarked the plane, our next stop was customs. Each parent had a car-seat with infant inside, a diaper bag, and on the back of Franco was a pink Disney Princesses backpack. Evalina giggled and said that the backpack belonged to her. Still holding their daughter, I stood near their family through customs and all of my Amanda Johansen paperwork went through without a hitch. Thank Marcus for small miracles.

After leaving customs, I asked where their family was headed. Franco responded that first they were taking the train to Paddington, then spending the night in Westminster. I told them I was headed in that direction (actually not, but I had no idea where it was that I was headed), and I didn't mind helping watch the kids or help with the luggage since my hands were relatively free. I was still holding Evalina, and the little tyke didn't want to let go of me, she managed to get her backpack on and hold her suitcase, all while in my arms. The boys' car-seats attached to strollers and the parents grabbed their own bags, and then we were off down to the train station. On our way to Paddington, the father discretely handed me a business card, telling me softly that if I was staying in London, they'd be in the city for several weeks if I wanted to babysit. I thanked him for his offer and carefully set his card in my back pocket. I realized that attached to the business card were some Euros, a quiet payment for babysitting his daughter. Sweet of him, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to take him up on his offer to babysit while we were in London. The kids seemed great, but twins were definitely outside the category that I felt comfortable with. Besides, I still had no idea what was going on with myself.

We disembarked from the train and headed out to the entrance. I set down the little girl and kissed her on the head. "Thank you," I said "You are a very nice friend."

_And you made a fantastic disguise if I needed one._

I wished the family luck on their holiday, said goodbyes, and I started walking down the street. Someone had said once that St. John's Church was near Paddington, and I set out to find it. Several minutes later, I sat in a pew, both praying and looking through the information to find Ingrid's phone number. I looked at my cell phone and saw that it had service. Thank god for small miracles. I went looking for the bathroom, and I was grateful that it was empty. I dialed Ingrid's cell number, the one listed in the emergency contact information. I had no idea if she was waiting for me to arrive on the flight I didn't take, but I felt a little bit better that I was in the position to call the shots instead of walk into a pre-sorted out scene of some sort.

The phone rang four times, and just as I was concerned it was going to voice-mail, a soft spoken softly accented voice said "Hallo?"

"Is this Ingrid?" I asked.

"Yes, you must be Bella," she said

I mumbled something that sounded like an affirmation.

"Are you here in London, dear?" she asked.

"Is Marcus okay?" I asked, I was wary of her and I didn't necessarily want to give more information away than I was ready to.

"Marcus is fine, Bella. He told me that you'd done some good work on the guy at your apartment, and he finished up the work without much trouble," she said.

_Maybe he did have a gun and finish off that strange animal guy, even though I hadn't heard the sound of a shot ring out._

"Marcus told me to tell you not to worry, that things are going to work out."

I smiled softly, that was a comment he had said often enough, telling me not to worry.

"So what happens now?" I asked Ingrid.

"Well, Bella, you need to trust me enough to tell me where you are, and then we'll drive over to my house and we'll figure things out from there, I have a guest room that you can spend the night."

_Well, if she's trusted by Marcus, I need to be willing to put my trust in her._

"I'm at St. John's Church in Hyde Park"

"Good, Bella. Just stay there, blend in with whatever is going on. I have long blonde hair and I'm wearing a black blazer, I'll see if I can find you."

Ingrid hung up the phone, and after tossing my mobile phone back into my backpack, I went out to the main part of the church, standing in the shadows and watching what everyone was doing. There was a relatively large crowd, some obvious tourists at the first several rows, but also some who looked like they had come here with the serious business to pray. I moved into a pew beside them and I found myself silently praying for safety and strength and wisdom to get through whatever kind of mess I'd managed to get myself into. I prayed for the safety of my family and my loved ones. I prayed for understanding. I prayed for my mother and my father, and I prayed for the strength to handle whatever information about them I was bound to learn. The man had mentioned knowing my mother at the confrontation by my apartment. I thought I'd been told that she passed away, but I prayed it was just a freak car crash that she met her demise.  
I wasn't sure how long I had my head bowed, praying, until I noticed I tall thin woman with long platinum hair sit down beside me.

_This must be Ingrid._Ingrid gave an appearance of saying a prayer to herself and a minute later, she stood up, motioning gently that I should follow her, not to disrupt the group of people praying.

We walked out of the church, and I finally asked her the question that had been burning for nearly twenty four hours.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked to her.

She smiled at me softly, sadly.

"Let's go over to my house, we'll have some privacy there to talk," she responded.

Instead of hailing a cab as I was accustomed to, she motioned to another driver, and a limousine pulled up to where we were standing. A large imposing dark haired man in a suit opened the back door, and Ingrid murmured her thanks, then told me this gentleman's name was Baldric, and that he's her security guard. "Pleasure to meet you," I said, holding out my hand for a handshake. Baldric didn't move, but remained stone still as he held the door open for me. That was kind of odd, but I didn't think much of it, maybe he's from the old school where a male needs to initiate a social handshake.

As we're riding down the streets of London, Ingrid took the time to point out the various different streets and the histories of the neighborhoods. She had a truly beautiful accent, and oddly enough, her talking put me at ease. Several minutes later we were driving up a road on a hill, and the car swung into a huge gated mansion.

I wondered if Marcus had sent me to his closest friend, or simply to the richest person he knew, hoping that they'd take care of me somehow.

I was completely in awe of the house. It had a warm Mediterranean décor, like someone had taken a palace from the seaside of Greece and transplanted it to a hillside just outside London. It was now getting dark, making the terracotta tiles nearly glow golden with the last rays of the light. Ingrid looked at me and followed my gaze.

"It's a beautiful piece, isn't it? I had it touched up a little when I bought it, and I truly enjoy living here. I hope that you can enjoy it too."

I wasn't sure what she meant by the last comment. I was just a short term guest, right?

Ingrid spoke to Baldric, asking him to take my bags to my room. I didn't even know if I'd ever locate the room designated as my own. Ingrid wasn't exaggerating when she said she had a guest room available. She probably had several. We walked through the front door and I was stunned. The main entryway had French doors that opened out to show a large circular entrance. There were wide marble staircases following the circular walls. I looked down at my feet and I was mesmerized by the detailed inlay of the white marble floor. The whole house seemed to move out like spokes from this center entrance. The first room on our left had been set up as an informal bar/entertainment room, black leather furniture looked in place with the dark mahogany accents in the room.

"The bar is always stocked, help yourself whenever you want."

Ingrid next showed me the kitchen. Any of the famous chefs would be jealous of her layout. The white marble had given to black marble, and everything was black or stainless steel.

"We keep the guest kitchen fully stocked at all times. If there's anything that you want, let myself, Baldric, or anyone working here know of your desires and we'll make it happen. If you don't know how to cook, we'll bring in a chef."

I looked quizzically at Ingrid. This went far beyond the concept of "spare bedroom" I was adjusted to. She shrugged softly.

"I enjoy being a good hostess" she said simply.

She pointed out the pool out the window from the kitchen, telling me that if I had any interest in swimming or sunbathing, they'd see to it that they got me an appropriate swimming suit.

"I don't sunbathe" I said, hoping that this woman wouldn't think that shopping for clothing was just part of 'being a good hostess'.

"I didn't think you did, but I do want you to know that if there's anything that you need, we're more than happy to accommodate you."

"How long exactly are you expecting to host me at your house? I'm extremely grateful that you've agreed to take me in, but I don't want to be a burden on you or anyone in this household."

Ingrid laughed softly.

"Marcus didn't discuss this with you?"

"No, whatever 'this' is, must have slipped his mind, somewhere between the point that he pulled a envelope with false documents for me and the point that he attacked some human monster creature." I realized I was venting to her and I stopped myself short.

"Marcus didn't discuss anything with me, he did however leave a note for you, maybe I should go fetch it." I said, curbing the litany of things I'd rather say.

"Let's finish the tour of the house, we'll take care of notes later" After the pool came a room with a locked door. Ingrid looked at it and gestured to it, as though to dismiss it.

"This room and the next are both usually locked, they're my study and my office. Most guests don't have much reason to be in either room."

The last room going around the circular entryway appeared to be a large ballroom.

"I enjoy having social get-togethers sometimes" she explained as though everyone needs an ornate ballroom for an afternoon barbecue party.

We started up the large marble stairs that slowly sloped in a circular motion following the contour of the entryway. When we reached the second floor, we found a relaxing looking lounge. Inside the lounge were seven or eight well dressed young men, several of them wore blazers and jeans, and the rest wore suits and ties. They were all quite handsome and had the rugged look about their faces as though they all worked out on a regular basis. Ingrid explained that they were from the local university, architecture students, and she invited them to stay while they studied the architecture of her house. The men waved as we left the room, and my intuition was telling me that something wasn't quite right with the last statements, but I wasn't sure, so I dismissed it. The rest of the second floor were guest suites, an approximate dozen. Ingrid pointed at which one was mine, one of the ones on the end. I ducked inside and saw that my backpack and small duffle bag had been set gently beside the bed. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the letter addressed to Igrid.

I took a moment and glanced around the room. The room had white marble floors, and all the furniture was light maple. There was a white coverlet on the bed. Looking through the partially opened door to the bathroom, I could see that the bathroom and all the fixtures were white marble too. The ceiling and accessories were light blue, and gave the room the feeling that it was the sky and clouds.  
There was a second room, again with the same white-and-wood theme, a desk, a leather couch, etc. I realized that I needed to get back to Ingrid, and I forced myself to steel my eyes away and walk back out of the room.

I walked back out and resumed the tour with Ingrid. I took another look at the guest suites. Instead of being a standard hallway with doors on each side, it was a semicircle with every room having a gorgeous window view. At the edge of the semicircle, there was a wrought iron banister and black marble stairs leading downward. Ingrid noticed I was looking at them.

"They lead down to the kitchen, to make midnight snacks quicker."

We walked back to the main stairs. She gestured to the stairs headed up to the third floor.

"My bedroom and more guestrooms are up there, you should never have a need to go up there unless there's an emergency."

We walked down the stairs and she unlocked the door to the room she called her study, and gestured for me to come inside. The white marble floor had white leather couches, and against one wall was an entire wall of books. I was enchanted, I had never seen so many books anywhere except at a library. I handed to Ingrid the letter Marcus had written, and then I walked over to the shelves, looking at the titles of the books. Most of them looked very old, and had titles in foreign titles with old fashioned writing and a book binding style I wasn't familiar with. I was so engrossed with looking at the books, that I didn't realize when Baldric had walked in the room until the door closed and the lock clicked closed. Ingrid finished reading the letter and set it down on a table.

"Well, there's only one way to find out" Ingrid said, acknowledging both the letter and Baldric.

Ingrid called my name, and I went over to her.

"What do you want to find out?"

"You, Isabella"

"Doesn't the note of Marcus explain everything?" I said, wondering why on earth she'd lock me in here with herself and her bodyguard.

"It explains some of it, Bella, but the rest of it is within you."

"What do you mean? I don't know what to tell you, what you want to find out, but I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

_Please don't hurt me._

Baldric grumbled something I didn't understand.

Apparently Ingrid understood whatever he said, and asked me to take off my jewelry because Baldric has an allergy to some metals.

That was a strange request, but I complied, I was a guest after all.

As soon as I had set my great grandmother's jewelry on an end table, Baldric's arm snaked around my front, pinning my back against him. It was only in that moment that I realized how tall and how incredibly strong this man was. It was unreal and I was starting to panic at a man with such brute strength holding me against my will. I screamed. I screamed again and I felt Baldric's strong hand over my mouth. He whispered softly into my ear.

"This room is soundproofed, scream all you want but nobody will hear you"

He removed his hand from my mouth, and even though he was probably telling the truth, I couldn't stop myself from screaming. Here I was in a strange place and a stranger was pinning me against him.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, trying to find a voice close to normal, despite my terror.

"We just need you," was the cryptic answer I received from Ingrid.

I looked over at Ingrid, and she was holding a knife, walking towards me.

This was some horror novel going wrong. Way wrong. Marcus sent me to someone who was going to keep me safe, and instead they're going to kill me. Nobody would ever know what happened because nobody ever knew that Isabella left the country and went to England.

Baldric tightened his grip around me and I started screaming again. He squeezed harder, and I found myself unable to breathe much less scream. With his other hand, he forcefully turned my head to the side, exposing my neck to the knife wielding maniac.

I felt the sharp cold blade cut into the skin of the side of my neck. I screamed again, all my terror from the last day coming out verbally. I fought back as hard as I could, but Baldric was like a vice or an anaconda, somehow able to squeeze me tighter, making it almost impossible to move. The cutting resumed, and I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, knowing in just a second the psychopath lady would cut the artery and I'd bleed out in less than a few minutes. Of all the stupid things in my life, how did I get myself into this situation?

I felt my blood streaming down my neck. She'd nicked open a vein. I tensed waiting for the fatal cut, but it didn't seem to be forthcoming. If I wasn't mistaken, her face was close to my neck. She was smelling my neck.

She was smelling it?!

What kind of sick freak was she? She held something that felt like a test-tube against the skin in my neck, probably allowing the blood to collect inside. She removed the test-tube, and after a moment's hesitation, I felt something warm and wet against the side of my neck. I recoiled as I realized that she had her mouth against my neck. What did she think?! Was she going to drink my blood? That was just sick. My last memory was finding the strength to scream and scream some more. Baldric held me tighter, and probably broke a couple of my ribs as I tried to flail around, a desperate attempt to free myself. Ingrid still had her mouth around my neck. She didn't seem to be bothered in the least about whatever her homicidal plan was. The world started to fuzz to grey as I battled my fight to keep screaming, even though I could barely move any air into my lungs, courtesy of the anaconda man.

My world faded to black. My last thought to myself was "Is this what death feels like?"

* * *

_I'm on my hands and knees, begging for feedback._


	5. Vampires Don't Exist

**Once again, the whole world scrambles as I admit that Moonlight is still not mine.**

* * *

I woke up. I have no idea if it was minutes later or hours later. I felt extraordinarily worn out, like I decided to run a marathon in the middle of a 40 day food fast. My brain was still groggy. I was familiar with that feeling, it meant that I needed some fruit juice and some more medication for my blood problem. At the moment though, I couldn't muster up the energy to open up my eyes. So I just listened.

I heard two voices, one light and sing-song like, as though it had originated in one of the Scandinavian countries. The other voice was deeper and stronger. I could almost hear his chest reverberating from his sturdy baritone voice. I couldn't make out what they were saying, either it was a foreign language or my brain was even foggier than I thought.

I decided that the latter of the two was more likely correct, and I tried to mentally rehearse the steps I needed to take to make my brain less foggy. Step one, figure out where I am. Step two, find some orange juice. Step three, find my purse or my medicine cabinet for my medicine.

I opened my eyes, and I had a momentary shock when I realized I was in Ingrid's library, and a bigger shock when I realized that the anaconda man, Baldric, was still holding me. I was still in his arms, but he was now seated and holding me protectively with my head resting against his chest as though I were some overgrown newborn child. I yelped and tried to get away from that man, with earlier events flashing through my mind. He started to grip me tighter but I wiggled free. I managed to dive away from him. Unfortunately, I dove head-first into the granite coffee table. Ouch. I was stunned for a moment, equally from the pain as from the grogginess, and the anaconda man picked me up and sat back down again, holding me in his arms as though nothing had happened. He whispered softly in my ear that I was okay and nobody was going to hurt me again. He rocked me softly while rubbing the spot where my forehead had impacted the coffee table. I closed my eyes again. I heard Ingrid leave the room. The world felt like it was swirling around me.

"Please don't kill me." I begged softly to the anaconda man.

He gently stroked my cheek and told me not to worry because I was safe. I don't know why, but he sounded genuine, and despite everything, I found myself relaxing in his arms. I don't know how, but some people radiate good vibes from them. Marcus was like that. When I'd first met Ingrid, I'd felt that way too. I'm not totally sure how I felt about her now. Somewhere on the scale of 'terrified' would probably be close. And now, even the anaconda man was shelling out some good vibes, I almost felt comfortable in his arms, with his soothing voice and his gentle touch.

I felt the throbbing knot in my forehead start to ease. My eyes were still closed, but I didn't have any intention of opening them. I rested my head against Baldric's arm and found myself giving in to his calming nature. I was nearly asleep when I heard footsteps returning back to the library. I opened one eye to see if she was going to stop my quiet reverie with another knife wielding attack. When I saw that she wasn't armed with anything but a stainless steel cup, I let my eyelid fall closed.

"Don't let her hurt me," I mumbled to the anaconda man.

"She won't hurt you, Bella, I promise," he said softly, gently easing my head up.

"Too late for that," I murmured.

The anaconda man chuckled softly. "She did what she had to do. Someday you'll understand."

I heard Ingrid walk across the room and take a seat on the couch with Baldric and I. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should be afraid, but Baldric was so calming that I found myself doubting that he would harm me or let harm come to me. Maybe I really was losing my mind, but it was a kind of pleasant feeling all the same.

"What if I don't understand?" I asked, trying feebly to start a protest.

Ingrid answered the question instead. "You will understand later. Your father wouldn't want it any other way."

"What does my father have to do with this?" I asked, still foggy but completely baffled that if I had a father, how he'd feel about some lady attacking me with a knife - then acting like it never happened. Geez, I really was groggy, I couldn't string together a thought without getting lost.

"A lot," Ingrid replied softly. "Now, here's a drink for you."

I shook my head. "Didn't your mom ever tell you not to accept candy from strangers?" I asked her, my mind wandering.

"This isn't candy, Bella. It will make things stop hurting," Ingrid said. Oddly, I regarded her. And despite the incident earlier which was already starting to become too fuzzy to remember clearly, I found myself halfway believing her.

Baldric shifted my weight, and I burrowed my head into his shoulder. "Can I trust her?" I asked him.

I said it softly only for his ears, and I was surprised to hear both of them laugh warmly as a response.

"You can decide for yourself whether to trust in me. I just need you to trust that you're safe here. Nobody here will ever lay a finger on you again, if that's what you want," said Ingrid.

"No," I said into Baldric's shoulder. "The anaconda man is comfortable; don't make me leave him yet."

I heard both of them laugh softly again, and Ingrid asked Baldric if he liked his new name. He laughed and said it was one of the kindest ones yet.

Baldric shifted my weight again, and held the cup up to my lips. I hesitantly took a drink. It was warm and sweet, yet salty and slightly metallic. It was good though, and I quickly finished the glass. "Was that juice?" I asked afterwards.

I could hear the smile in her voice. "You could say that," she replied.

"Why was it warm?" I asked, as I leaned my head against Baldric's shoulder again, ready to nod off to sleep.

"Because the kitchen is warm, Bella."

That didn't totally make sense, but I wasn't quite clicking with the mental synapses.

"You're tired, Bella" Ingrid said.

"Yeah, its okay though. I'll head up to my room in a few minutes."

I wasn't sure if I said those words or if I imagined them. I felt myself being gently moved onto the couch, and I yawned and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. Someone covered me with a warm quilt and I curled up into a ball, the way I'd slept since I was a small child.

I don't know when I awoke later. I felt better, much better. It was a little odd considering that I hadn't managed to take my medicine, and forgetting to take it was usually a guarantee that I'd feel pretty miserable. I yawned, stretched and opened my eyes. Across the room, the marble wall recessed, and there was gas-burning fireplace giving off a warm glow. Otherwise, the room was dark. From somewhere behind the couch, in another room, I could hear the quiet hum of a computer and the rhythmic typing of someone on the keyboard.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The typing stopped, and I heard someone get up and walk into the room from an adjoining door.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty" Ingrid said softly, as she sat down on a chair by the couch.

"Is it morning?" I asked, not having the least concept of what time of day it was. Jet lag does that to me every time.

Ingrid laughed warmly. "Hardly, it's a quarter past two in the morning."

I had so many questions to ask her, now that my mind was more clear.

"What are you doing awake at this hour?" I asked her, slightly worried that I'd kept her up because she was keeping tabs on me. I didn't want to know why she'd want to keep tabs on me.

Ingrid smiled and told me it was the middle of her workday.

_It takes all kinds, I suppose._

_"_What happened earlier?" I asked her, tentatively. If she wanted to kill me, I'd be dead. If she'd wanted to torture me, I'd be feeling a lot more tortured. I was apprehensive, but curious as all hell.

"I needed a sample of your blood," Ingrid said nonchalantly, as though knife wielding was a daily occurrence for her.

"You could have asked!" I exclaimed.

"And seriously, you would have given it to me?" Ingrid asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"If you had me pinned down and you were holding a knife, probably not," I conceded, wondering if I would have voluntarily let anyone obtain a sample of my blood with anything besides a needle and syringe, under any circumstances.

"So, no harm no foul," she said simply.

"No... That doesn't even begin to cover it." I said, but I was ready to move onto a different subject.

"Why did you need some of my blood?"

"I needed to make sure you were who Marcus said you were."

"And who exactly would that be?" If I wasn't me, then who or what on earth was I?

"Your father's daughter."

It was a simple and forthright answer, but there was one major missing component. "How is it that you decided that I was my father's daughter?" I asked. "Did you run some sort of DNA test?"

"You could say that," Ingrid answered vaguely.

"Why do you care if I'm my father's daughter or not?" I asked her. "What kind of difference does it make?"

"It makes all the difference in the world" Ingrid responded lightly.

"So what then?" I'd asked. "Is my father some prime minister candidate and my presence could cost him the office if the community learned that he'd fathered a bastard child?"

Ingrid laughed again. "No, he's not running for prime minister. He lives in the USA, but if he had a child could be a big problem for people who disagree with him."

"So they'd do what? Kill me because of my father?"

I had asked half in jest, but she nodded seriously as though I had earnestly asked the question.

"So you understand now?" she asked me.

"No, I don't" I answered seriously. "Are you one of the people who are going to kill me?"

Her face was still somber and she blinked a few times and swallowed. "No, Bella. Nobody who respects your father will ever harm you. I can assure you that. Marcus kept you safe, and now it's my duty."

So this was all her concept of keeping me safe?! Well, at least I wasn't dead, so maybe she deserved partial points in the 'keeping Bella safe' category. After the incident outside my apartment with Marcus and that stranger, I had the eerie feeling that if someone had meant to kill me, they'd probably be able to get around to it better than Ingrid was doing. And Ingrid didn't strike me as a particularly ineffective person on any level.

"After you cut me…" I hesitated. "Were you drinking my blood?" I asked; intrigued, timid and repulsed equally.

"Good heavens no, Bella. Your blood would probably make me sick anyway. It's an old wives' tale for helping a wound heal. Apparently it worked."

My hand went to my neck, and I was surprised because I couldn't feel anything different, any tell-tale mark. It didn't hurt either. I also didn't want to know how she was able to decide that my blood would make her sick, wouldn't anyone's blood make someone sick? And if so, why did she make it sound like my blood was somehow different? That was going to start walking down a path I wasn't sure I wanted to take, so I mentally changed gears.

"So nobody is going to come up to me with sharp knives again?" I asked, wanting to be very clear on that topic.

"It could have been worse, kid. But no, nobody else will be requesting your blood except perhaps for your father himself."

"Well," I said, "I'll deal with that when we get there." I wasn't sure what could be worse than strangers attacking with sharp knives, and I shuddered at the thought.

"So… What happens now?" I asked.

Ingrid looked at me cautiously, waiting a moment before she answered, as though she anticipated me to clarify with something more specific.

When I wasn't forthcoming with a more detailed question, she responded.

"Well, you get to hang out here until it's safe for you to go somewhere else."

"Is that the vaguest possible answer you could give, or is it possible to be less specific than that?" I asked rhetorically.

The blonde looked at me, and for the first time I realized that she was a lot younger than I had thought. I had just presumed that if she'd known my father, she had to have been as old as my aunts and uncles. Instead, here by the firelight, she could easily have passed for being under thirty. I don't know why I didn't notice it before, I suppose I really had my mind on other things.

Staring at her, I also realized she was a stunningly beautiful woman. She had long blonde hair that went nearly to her waist, a very pale honey wheat color. Although I couldn't see it in the firelight too well, she had deep blue eyes. With high cheekbones and a flawless complexion, she looked like she'd fallen out of a magazine one day and came to life.

"How is it that you know my father?" I asked, noticing the lull in the conversation for the first time.

"It's a really long story, Bella," she started. "Let it suffice to say that we've known each other for awhile and our businesses sometimes put us in contact together."

"And what kind of business is that?" I persisted.

"That's not an easy answer. I help manage a janitorial company that has branches in every continent. Nowadays, I'm mainly paperwork pusher, making sure I have who I need where I need them, and handling the major problems that crop up when something goes wrong," she said.

"What could go wrong at a janitorial company?" I asked, trying to be imaginative but only getting as far as an errant employee clogging up a vacuum cleaner or breaking an air conditioning system. Clearly, those problems weren't the ones she was paid to take care of, judging by the size of her house.

She shrugged off the question. "They're people, everything needs to go wrong at some point, or else there wouldn't be any need for the business."

Maybe she had misunderstood my question, unless her janitorial company dealt with people going wrong as a specialty. I chalked it up to a misunderstanding of accents and let the question slide.

"Do you mind if I grab a snack from the kitchen?" I asked.

"Not at all," Ingrid replied. "If you'd like, you're welcome to come back to chat after you're done."

I thanked her, and as I unwrapped myself from the warm quilt, I noticed that I was wearing a soft white bathrobe instead of my jeans and sweater.

"What happened to my clothes?!" I asked, taken by surprise.

She dismissed the question with a small wave of her hand. "They had gotten dirty, so we changed you into something more comfortable. We'll get more clothes for you tomorrow." She answered this as though it was a trivial question. Did she make a regular habit of undressing people?

"Never mind," I said aloud. I wasn't necessarily the most modest woman in the world, and neither she nor Baldric struck me as serial rapists. I noticed that I still had my underclothes on beneath the bathrobe, so it probably wasn't likely that I was naked in front of the two of them. I decided to let that topic go. I'd discuss it later sometime.

I padded over to the kitchen, and paused at a mirror in the hall. In the dim light, I looked at my neck, and I couldn't see a mark from earlier. I found myself questioning if it had ever happened, or if my imagination was playing tricks on me and I had over-reacted.

When I reached the kitchen, I noticed that a light was already on. Opening up the door gently, I saw two of the architect students from earlier, each wearing nothing more than a pair of pajama bottoms. That was kind of an odd thing for a guest to be prancing around in, but given that I was wearing a bathrobe, I wasn't in a position to comment. They seemed to be ignoring me, having some deep conversation, and I wasn't up for making small talk just yet.

I went to the large refrigerator and started taking a quick inventory of things that would fit into the general scheme of my usual high-protein diet. I noticed that everything was either already prepared, or prepackaged; as though everyone in the house was somehow incapable of putting together ingredients to make cookies, or take the time to put together a lasagna dish. I shrugged my shoulders, I was starting to amass that things in this household didn't necessarily fit into what could be easily considered 'normal'. I sighed and grabbed some deli meat and cheese out of the fridge, along with a small container of cottage cheese. It'd do for now.

The cupboards were all designed from black marble with stainless steel knobs, but it didn't help me figure out where to find the plates and silverware. After casually picking the cupboards and drawers that 'made sense' for these items, I was starting to grow frustrated. Well, if I were to need to learn where to find things, I may as well begin now. I sighed softly and started systematically opening up the cupboards and drawers. I found several of them empty, but I must have attracted the attention from the guys at the table.

"Ma'am, is there something specific that you're looking for?" asked the flaxen haired guy, stopping his conversation and rubbing his palms slightly on his navy plaid pajama bottoms.

_My sanity._

"Oh, just the usual," I responded. "Silverware, plates, stuff like that."

The two guys looked at each other and I caught the darker haired one raising an eyebrow. Either they had no idea what I was looking for, or they seemed surprised that I didn't know where to find it.

The flaxen haired young man told me where to find the things, and I thanked him and got busy with putting food on a plate.

The two guys were behind me, but their conversation now took on a hushed tone. I've always had better hearing than most people, and with an amused smile, I realized that they were talking about me.

#1: "Hey man, I didn't know she eats."

#2: "They don't normally. I heard that sometimes they do if they're pretending to fit in."

#1: "I can't imagine that they fit in very well, regardless of whether they're eating or not."

#2: "She's not quite like them. I don't know what makes her different."

I turned around and looked at guy number two, the guy with a dark brown crew cut, looking like he belonged somewhere in a military elite forces troop, but instead wearing a pair of light blue pajama pants.

"What makes me different than what?" I asked him, wondering what on earth they were talking about.

"Oh… um… you know" he stammered.

The brown haired military looking guy started to blush, and the flaxen haired guy jumped in to help him.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. Must've had a few too many drinks at the bar tonight," he said.

_Yeah, right. And if you were Pinocchio, your nose would be growing._

I was surprised at how flustered the guys had become. They both looked like handsome self-confident men, but by the way they talked, they acted like they were twelve years old.

I sighed softly, and turned towards the table with my plate in hand. "Nevermind, I must have misunderstood you," I said, using my very best American accent. "Anything interesting happening tonight?" I sat down at the table, opposite of the two men, and started digging into my snack.

"Not really," the military one said.

"Not unless you want it," the flaxen one offered.

I looked at them both and raised an eyebrow. This was beyond bewildering. My presence seemed to knock these two guys right off their gourds. I didn't usually have that effect on people. Again, I thought back to this house and I realized that I hadn't had a single 'normal' interaction with anyone since I set foot in this house.

"What is it that I'd be wanting?" I asked the fair haired guy.

The blond looked at me as though I was either joking or asking a trick question.

"You know," he stammered, starting to turn as red as his friend. "Us."

_Either drunk, stupid, strange or all three._

"Don't worry," I said nonchalantly. "You're not my type."

_My type of guy doesn't run around throwing themselves at strangers in the middle of the night as though it were some deranged frat party._

With the situation being even more awkward than the one I'd left in the library, I excused myself, and took my plate and glass of water with me. I wasn't sure where I was headed, but I found myself walking up the main staircase. The second floor was quiet. I had an odd feeling that the architecture students weren't all sleeping in their beds like the somewhat-nerdy guys that Ingrid had insinuated they were.

I wandered over to the room that had been claimed mine. As I flicked on the light, I noticed that my backpack and duffle bag from earlier were nowhere to be found. The thought of someone going through my stuff bothered me a little, even though I didn't think I had secrets to hide, aside from my passport and such from Italy. I found my clothes hung up in the closet with the empty duffle bag folded on the floor. I walked into the bathroom, and I was more than a little surprised to find that someone had gone to the effort to stock the bathroom with soap and shampoo. I was also more than a little surprised to see that in general, they were the brands I had used at home. Not many people go to London to find a shampoo bottle written in Italian and French.

Leaving the bathroom, I wandered towards the second room, and there, on the coffee table, I found my backpack. I saw my computer on the desk, and I wasn't too thrilled to see that someone had opened it and plugged it in. Beside the computer was a note, handwritten with old-fashioned handwriting. Glancing over it, I saw that Ingrid needed to have my computer checked for bugs before I turned it on, at least as the note said. She had also written the pass-code to access the wireless internet, and I was grateful for that. I checked my e-mail while I finished my snack. I wasn't quite ready to write anything to anyone, so I turned off the computer.

Walking into the other room, I located my pajamas in the closet, and changed into those, setting the discarded bathrobe over the bathroom door. They were warmer, I surmised, as I grabbed my empty plate and headed back down to the kitchen.

The light was on, but the kitchen was empty. I was somewhat grateful, I didn't really want to run into Mr. Military or Mr. Flaxen-Haired at the moment. They were just too weird for me. I rinsed my plate off, and, locating a dishwasher, set my dishes in the machine.

I wasn't sleepy, but I found myself drawn back to the library. The door was still open. During the tour of the house, Ingrid had told me that guests didn't use the library. But the library looked to be the most fascinating room in the house, and besides, with a fireplace going, it was quite possibly the warmest. I walked in quietly. The light from the fireplace was enough light for me. Low light conditions never seemed to be much of a problem, though sometimes it felt like bright sunlight actually hurt my eyes. I made a beeline for the wall of books, curious to find what genre of books that Ingrid was interested in.

Someone had once told me that one of the clearest ways to get a picture of someone's life, was to look through their book collection. Glancing through Ingrid's collection though, the only thing that came to mind was that she must enjoy old books. Some of them looked so old that their leather bindings might just come off.

I recognized some of the languages the book titles were in, and I wondered if there were a significant amount in one language or another, that I could get a clear picture of which languages Ingrid knew. Many of them were in Greek, a handful of them were written in Aramaic or Arabic or one of those languages where letters didn't quite even look like letters. I found several books written in Latin, and as I squatted down, some of them, I could pull out different words that were familiar-enough in Italian. It wasn't much help, as it was only the occasional word or two. I moved slowly down the wall, reading the book titles and looking for something familiar.

Rex is king, homo is mankind. Close enough to their younger Italian counterparts. There seemed to be a handful of books in Latin about kings, men, history and the world.

One book caught my eye. Not because I could translate it, but because it reminded me of a story I had been told when I was on holiday in Greece. The book's title was starting to rub away, but it read "Lamiai Praedic…"

Lamia was the name of a Greek legend of a woman who drank/ate her own children. Following some of the traditional languages, Lamiai would mean multiple. Multiple women consuming others? That was kind of a weird name for a book.

I looked at the second part of the title. "Praedic-" something. Anything after the seventh letter was too far gone to understand.

_Praedico? Praedicis? Praedicito?_

That was starting to sound a little close to the Italian word "predizione". A forecast or a prophecy. The English word "predict" has the same Latin root.

I went back to the Greek legend. The storyteller while we were on holiday said that while Lamia was gone, her legend remains, starting a breed of multiple non-goddess lamia, who spread through the world, to be known to us Italians as "vampiri". Vampires. The word "Lamia" was close to two words in Italian. "Lama" and "Lame"; both meant swords or blades in Italian. The only time I'd heard Lame used without having a context to battle or farming, was "lame del vampiri" : Vampires' fangs.

I suddenly started putting two and two together. The book's title was a prophecy of the fanged ones who consume others. A prophecy of vampires?? The vampire prophecy?? Now there was an odd book for a collection.

I looked at the book beside it "Sanguineus Transitus" that one was much easier of a translate. The words "transitante della sangue" means roughly, the passing of blood, between one thing and another thing.

Passing blood? Sharing blood? Sharing lots of blood? Passing lots of blood between people?

I picked up these two books gently. I definitely needed an explanation why Ingrid had vampire prophecies and books about sharing blood. This is definitely beyond strange for anyone's book collection. Adding into the part where Ingrid had me pinned down for my blood, then put her mouth to the wound to heal it.

After picking up the books, I walked over to the adjoining door to Ingrid's office. I knocked on the door softly, and when I asked to come in, I opened the door and walked in. I hadn't seen Ingrid's office before. The white marble and mahogany décor was in here too. The room she called her office was huge. There was a large conference table to one side, and on the other side were more white leather couches. Toward the back there were several mahogany bookcases, and a large mahogany colored desk with a laptop computer on it. And that was where Ingrid was seated.

"Bella, I hadn't realized you were nearby. Is there anything you need?" Ingrid asked kindly.

"Are you busy?" I asked, beating around the bush a little.

"Not any more than usual," she replied, and closed her laptop and gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the desk from her.

I crossed the room and sat down. It was a comfortable white leather chair.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

I set down her two books on the desk. "Do you mind telling me why you have a book about prophecies of vampires and another book about passing around blood?"

_And please don't kill me for asking._

She didn't ask how I pulled the translations, but she didn't argue that I had translated incorrectly. I deducted that my translations of the titles were close enough and the rough meaning was there.

"There's really only one way to explain this," she said. "I had thought that this was stuff you already knew, considering who you are, but this all seems to be news for you."

She pressed an intercom button, and after greeting Baldric she switched to a language I wasn't familiar with.

_Please don't let her be ordering him to kill me._

Ingrid must have sensed that I was getting tense. "Don't be afraid," she said. I told you that nobody was going to touch you and nobody was going to hurt you."

She had said that, but right now it was about as meaningful as telling me that the sky was green and the grass was blue. I didn't believe any of it.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door, and Baldric entered. Baldric entered, escorting one of the architecture students. "Adrian, this is Bella. Do you mind if she watches?

_Watches what?!_

Adrian shook his head, indicating he didn't mind.

_Thank goodness these weren't one of the two architecture students from the kitchen._

Ingrid moved to the couch, and Adrian positioned himself beside her, giving both Ingrid and myself a good view. I was still sitting on the chair, and Baldric moved so that he was standing beside me. Ingrid leaned down as though she were savoring the scent of a fine wine. Her face, which had been pale to begin with, became more pale, her eyes paled and became nearly silver. She moved her lips towards Adrian's neck and I saw two fangs protruding from her mouth.

I screamed, and ran for the door. This was not possible. Vampires do not exist. Psychotic people think they're vampires sometimes, but true vampires are just folklore.

"Baldric," Ingrid said in an annoyed tone, "do something about Bella."

Baldric reached me before I made it to the door. He grabbed me, and while wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me back so I was pinned against him, he put his other arm over my mouth, stifling my scream. Baldric moved back over beside the couch and forced me to stand there and watch, whatever was going to happen next. He whispered softly in my ear that nobody was going to get hurt and no harm was going to happen to Adrian. He told me that I mustn't scream because it would upset Adrian. The anaconda's voice and presence was soothing, and though I had no idea exactly what I was going to be watching, I set my mind to watch and not react.

Ingrid was gently caressing Adrian's neck, and beneath her fingertips, Adrian definitely looked like he was enjoying himself, stretching his neck out. Ingrid settled Adrian closer to her body, and I realized that Ingrid's eyes were still silver. She looked over at me, as though she sensed that I had resolved to watch this and the fear had left me.

She brought Adrian still closer to herself, and nuzzled his neck for a moment. Adrian looked like he was in complete bliss. She leaned in, and bit his neck with her fangs. This was like some vampire horror movie, except it was unfolding in Ingrid's office. I took a deep breath, trying to settle my stomach. When Baldric the anaconda realized that I wasn't going to scream, he moved his hand away from my mouth, still keeping a secure hold around my waist. I leaned back into him, letting the back of my head settle against his chest while I watched.

Adrian seemed to be truly enjoying the situation, completely at ease that this person… this creature… this… I don't know… had sank her fangs into his neck and now was slowly sucking and swallowing the blood of his. I noticed after a couple minutes, she stopped swallowing and sucking, and her eyes had a faraway expression on them. She slowly moved her head away from Adrian's neck, and I saw two gaping holes in his neck, slowly streaming out blood. She glanced at me, as if to confirm that I was watching everything and saw what she had done. Then slowly, she put her mouth back over the wounds she had made. I had no idea what she was doing, but several moments later, she moved her mouth away from his neck and there wasn't any sign that he'd been punctured. She cradled Adrian's head in her arms for a little while, a small smile playing on Adrian's lips, but his eyes were closed. After a moment, she asked Baldric to help Adrian back up to his room.

Baldric let go of me, and went over to the young man, helping him up and shouldering most of his weight. The two of them walked over to the door, and I made a motion to follow them, not wanting to be alone with this… thing. Ingrid told me that Baldric had the situation under control and instructed me to sit down. I told Ingrid that if she didn't mind, I'd rather be with Baldric, and we'd be back. She conceded, and the anaconda man and I both heard her grumble something about my 'security blankie'. I giggled, and Baldric snorted, trying hard not to laugh at his employer. The anaconda man helped Adrian up the stairs and to his guest room, where he helped Adrian into bed, and instructed me to find the mini-fridge in the second room and get a bottle of water. I found the water and brought it back to Baldric, who set the bottle on a coaster on the nightstand. Baldric then turned off the light, and guided me out of the room.

"What happens now?" I asked the anaconda man after he had closed the door to Adrian's room.

"Now we go downstairs to Ingrid," he responded lightly.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you have questions," he replied, with a chuckle.

"Am I the next course on the menu?" I asked.

Baldric stiffened slightly, and I had the sense that he didn't like my question. I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe because he didn't know what to say.

"No, you're not on the menu," Baldric said. "Even if Josef weren't your sire, you wouldn't be on the menu."

"My sire? Am I some sort of horse breed?" I asked. I think I knew what he meant, but it certainly was a strange way to say it.

"Josef," he said, correcting himself, "is your parent, not your sire."

"That's his name?" I asked. Up until now, nobody had mentioned his name.

"Yes, Bella," he responded. "Now, lets go downstairs and chat with Ingrid and prove to her that you don't need me as your personal 'blankie' for safety."

I giggled, imagining myself trying to lug him around like a teddy bear, but then grew somber as I realized that I'd have to have a conversation with the blood drinking… um… person. I still had my fingers crossed that I wasn't next on the menu.

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_Thanks for taking the time to read my latest chapter. If you have another few seconds, please hit that blue button and let me know what you're thinking. :)_


	6. And If They Did Exist?

_I would like to take the moment and thank all of you who have taken the time to read my story. An even bigger heartfelt word of thanks and appreciation to those of you who have shared your thoughts and opinions about the chapters; your thoughts, opinions, insight and kind words mean a lot to me. It helps me write my story better, and possibly more interesting :)_

**_I had a dream lastnight that I had the millions to buy Moonlight and the creative forces behind it and the fantastic actors. But then I woke up and I realized that it's still not mine. But not for lack of desire.

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_**

**_Isabella_**

We walked back downstairs, and when we reached the doorway to Ingrid's office, the anaconda man shooed me inside, alone. The door was partially open, but I paused anyway, knocking softly. I was generally not an ultra-cautious sort of person, but thinking about being alone in the same room with Ingrid made my heart beat faster from fear. I had no idea how to describe her or classify her. A monster, straight out of novels and horror films. A drinker of human blood. A killer?

"You needn't be afraid," answered Ingrid's warm voice from behind her computer in response to my timid knock.

She told me to have a seat on a couch, and I picked one that was halfway down the room, facing Ingrid's desk. I listened to the steady sound of her fingers on the keyboard, and after a moment, the keys stopped and she closed the top of her laptop.

The agile blonde came over to the cluster of couches, and wisely chose one perpendicular to mine. "Can I get you anything?" she asked.

I quirked my eyebrow at her.

_I don't think I want what you're serving._

"I meant water, a glass of wine. I'm sure I could come up with something else if you were in the mood, but I was trying to be a good hostess" she said with a smile.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," I answered, not entirely trusting that she wouldn't try to poison something she served me.

I sat looking at this fair-skinned woman sitting comfortably on the couch, a million questions rolling through my mind, all awkward enough that I wasn't sure how to ask.

"Well?" she asked after several minutes. She'd been waiting for me to say something, I suppose, and I think she'd grown impatient. She peered at me, encouraging me to say something.

"What are you?" I finally blurted out, lacking eloquence.

"Bella, you already know the answer to that one," Ingrid replied with a smile.

I gave her a quizzical look. I had some idea, but the tales of folklore weren't real.

"Let's re-cap," she said with another smile. "Nocturnal, fangs, drinks blood."

She laughed at the expression on my face, my own memories of her interaction with Adrian were surfacing very quickly.

"Honestly, your father would be shocked if you hadn't managed to put this all together yet, I would think he'd expect you to be able to put all the pieces together awhile ago," she said with a smile.

_It's cute when a little kid tells you about fairies or dragons. Their imaginativeness is endearing. But this isn't cute nor endearing and we're not discussing children playing._

_**"**_I have it together, I think, but vampirini…" I stammered, having realized I'd used the Italian form of the word.

_No, I'll never have this one together._

"Vampires?" Ingrid supplied helpfully, with a smile as though it was a word I didn't know the translation for.

That hadn't been the cause of my confusion. I was just still trying to wrap my mind around this and I was coming up short in the verbal department, in ANY language. "Vampires," I echoed her, "don't exist. I mean, people can pretend they're vampires, or some kids go through a stage where they're acting all gothic and stuff as though they're dead or undead or something, and still other psychotic people will convince themselves that they are vampires and do some really strange stuff." I trailed off.

Ingrid grinned as though she were enjoying my rationale.

"You're not some gothic strange psychotic person on a fantasy trip though…" I trailed off as my mind abruptly changed courses.

"What about werewolves? Witches? Wizards?" I asked, my mind already jumping to a different topic now that we'd more or less confirmed vampire existence. I seemed to generally be able to roll with the punches and adjust. If vampires exist, then vampires exist. I just wondered what else existed too. "Leprechauns, trolls, the tooth fairy?"

Ingrid laughed. "They're still just tales, from as much as I know."

_As should be vampires._

"But vampires?" I asked questioningly, "They're not only real, but you're one of them?"

I remembered first meeting her earlier. There were still a few rays of sunlight when we met. "You don't melt or burst into flames or something if you're exposed to sunlight?"

Ingrid shrugged, "Sunlight hurts us, makes us sick, but rarely does it kill a vampire outright. And I've never heard of a vampire melting, but I'll keep that in mind." She smiled at me as though she enjoyed my naïve questioning.

"So what does kill a vampire outright?" I asked, my brain already moving to another topic.

"Why?" she quipped, "Already making plans?"

_Perhaps I should be._

I laughed, "I hadn't thought about it, should it be a concern of mine?"

"Maybe someday," she conceded with a grin, "but for now, let Baldric and I handle any errant vampires."

I hadn't considered that there were any threats of errant vampires, but Ingrid's words made me worry. I guess she read the expression on my face.

"Fire," she said, "or decapitation. There are only two ways to truly rid oneself of a vampire. Silver works too in enough quantity."

"Can you turn into a bat?" I asked her, a new thought piquing my curiosity.

"Of course." She replied, "Just as easily as you can."

I smiled, at least she had a nice sense of humor for being some sort of monster.

"Do you sleep?" I asked her, curious about coffins and what exactly she had in her bedroom upstairs. If she had a coffin, I was willing to bet that she had it lined with dark silk. I wondered if there were double-wide coffins for committed partners.

"I try to," she responded honestly. "My work gets in the way sometimes, but vampires do need to sleep."

"In coffins?" I supplied, as helpfully as I could.

Ingrid wrinkled her nose as though the thought conjured up unpleasant memories. "Not since the advent of ice boxes and Freon," she replied dryly.

"And before ice boxes…?" I asked, trailing off but wondering just how long vampires had been around.

"Before ice boxes, vampires would find the coldest darkest place they could find. That's probably why so many of the folklore stories about vampires center on colder regions. There were so many of them that humans were bound to see something at one point or another."

"Why the cold?" I asked her, realizing that the focus of their sleeping places seemed to be coldness and not related to coffins at all.

"Because it's comfortable, it's refreshing. Our bodies physiologically crave it, I hadn't really thought about it" she answered. "It's just something we do."

"So all vampires sleep in freezers?" I asked, wondering if this was some boon in the freezer industry.

"I don't know about all of us, but probably." Ingrid responded.

"Just how many vampires are there?" I asked, wondering from her last comment.

Ingrid shrugged, as though it wasn't a topic she had considered. "There are probably a few thousand here in the UK, there's no official roster that I know of."

"And all vampires, are they like you?" I asked.

"In what sense?" she countered.

"Well, _storie folcloristice del vampirini…" _I paused for a second, confused because "storia" means both "tale" and "history" in Italian and I wasn't instantly certain how it translated correctly. I gave up trying to figure out the right phrase, and decided that Ingrid would understand what I was trying to mean eventually.

"They have the mindless, the soulless, the blood frenzied maniacs, in the folklores." I said. "You do not have the mindless, soulless, blood frenzied maniac; at least I don't think you have."

I wrinkled my nose.

_Damn English._

I tried again. "You seem like a decent person, you do not seem like a soulless, mindless bloodthirsty crazed monster from stories."

_That makes minimally more sense._

Ingrid had patiently waited for my brain to formulate myself into English, and she smiled now that she understood what I had tried to say. "I'll take that as a compliment," Ingrid grinned.

"A lot of vampires are able to blend in with the human society, they hold down respectable jobs. We even have a few guys working Scotland Yard. We can be anyone from the mechanic who works on your car, to the president of a bank, just like humans, we have our own strengths and weaknesses." She grew somber. "There are some vampires though, who, for whatever reason, are a menace to society, both humans and other vampires. Those are the ones that make trouble, like the one Marcellus took care of outside your apartment."

"Marcellus?" I asked. I didn't know anyone named Marcellus.

"Marcellus, Marcus. Same guy. Your friend at your job. We all need to change identities to keep up with the times."

"How much time exactly are we talking about? How long have you been around, Ingrid?"

Ingrid shrugged her shoulders slightly, dismissing the question as though it weren't important or she wasn't sure of the answer. "Since Frederick II paraded his belligerent dumbfuck self around Denmark and Norway."

"Mmm.." I said, smiling, "World history isn't my specialty, I'm afraid."

I wondered how many of the great leaders she's known in her life, since she was already naming someone I didn't recognize, apparently she was somewhat familiar with him and his ways.

Ingrid closed her eyes for a brief second as though she were looking through her mental rolodex for something.

"Frederick II, sixteenth century; there have been so many rulers since then haven't known the difference between their heads and their arses, its hard to keep them straight sometimes", she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

I was surprised. Several decades, I could understand, but centuries upon centuries… That was just…

"Wow," was the only thing I could think of to say.

Ingrid shrugged her shoulders again. "They always say that time flies when you're having fun." She grinned wickedly, almost as though she dared me to ask her to define "fun".

"And Marcus, he fought a vampire. Is he one of you too?"

Ingrid smiled. "You bet."

"But Marc is so normal," I replied. "Not to say that you're not normal," I hastily interjected, "but I worked with that guy for months and didn't have a clue."

"We're a dying species," Ingrid replied. "The only way for us to continue our survival is to blend in as well as we can."

"You and Marcus both look so young. Is there some secret to the fountain of youth when you're a few hundred years old?" I asked.

My question was met with a little smile from Ingrid. "Our bodies stop the aging process when we turn into vampires. It doesn't matter how old we are, we'll always look the same," she said.

"I think I was about twenty nine at the time, I never asked Marcus, but I assumed he was twenty or twenty two," she continued.

"How did I get involved into all this?" I asked. "Because I worked with Marcus?"

Ingrid smiled sadly. "No, because of Josef, your father."

"Is Josef a vampire too?" I questioned, figuring I knew the answer to that question or else I wouldn't be here having a crash course in Vampirism 101.

"One of the best," Ingrid replied, picking at an invisible piece of lint on her dark pants.

"Does Josef have other children? Do I have brothers or sisters?"

"Not exactly" Ingrid replied, not making eye contact with me.

"Define what 'exactly' is," I said.

Ingrid sighed softly.

"Vampires, well, they can't make human babies. I'm sure you know the basics of genetics, half of the DNA comes from the mother, half from the father. Only animals of the same species can breed, which is why the zebra can't create offspring with, say, a giraffe."

"Okay…" I said, trailing off, still trying to assimilate what Ingrid was trying to say, or not say.

"Vampires can't create offspring with humans. Vampires can't make vampire babies either, in the traditional manner of making babies the way humans do. They don't create populations in the traditional sense."

Clearly, sex wasn't a topic she wanted to share freely with me. Maybe she was a sixteenth century prude in disguise.

"How do vampires populate then?" I asked.

"I won't get into the details now, but a vampire consciously chooses to turn an adult human into a vampire."

Now I was more than a little confused. "So, my father is a confirmed vampire. My mother…" I hesitated, realizing that if someone could be turned into a vampire so easily, maybe she was one too. "Well, I guess she had to be human to give birth to me," I deducted, and Ingrid nodded her head in some form of consent.

"So, what am I?"

"I'm not exactly sure, Bella. Neither was Marcus. For thousands of years, it's been common knowledge amongst our kind, that vampires can't be a biological parent to a human child."

She sighed softly and looked at me.

"You, Bella, are the first one I've ever known of who has defied that law of nature, quite perhaps, the first of the species."

"I'm a human then?" I asked, because clearly I wasn't a vampire.

"For all intents and purposes, I think one could say yes," Ingrid answered, making me doubt my own conclusion.

"You 'think'?"

_This shouldn't be a debatable topic, should it?_

"Well, you eat food, sleep in a bed, no fangs."

"But?" I prompted, sensing there was more to the story.

"But you're also sensitive to sunlight, I've been told that you have a serious nocturnal habit, I've been told that you only eat a high protein diet. You also heal quickly from injuries. I've also been told that you seem to have some sort of immunity against human illnesses and viruses."

I was speechless for a moment. What she was telling me was that I, biologically, wasn't possible. Yet here I was.

Ingrid took a deep breath. I guess she had been saving the most damning evidence for last. "I'm not sure I can explain it very clearly, but humans, they make only one kind of blood, if someone's O negative, they'll be O negative for their whole life. If someone is AB positive, they'll be AB positive until they die. Vampires don't make blood, the bone marrow shuts down when someone becomes a vampire."

_Okay, so far, so good._

"Vampire blood," she continued, "is completely different. It's like comparing apples and oranges, because we don't have blood types and vampires can't donate blood to other vampires like humans can donate blood to other humans. When a vampire drinks blood of a human, the cells in their body use the energy from the blood they drank."

_Okay, a stretch of the imagination, but I think I can wrap my mind around this._

"Your blood, Bella, is neither and both, all at the same time" Ingrid continued.

_Huh?!_

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, genuinely confused."Like I said earlier, bone marrow makes blood. Human bone marrow makes human blood. Vampire bone marrow does nothing. Your bone marrow manages to churn out both A negative blood and vampire blood, at least I think. Every vampire's blood is a little different, it's like a fingerprint that stays with them forever. It changes as a vampire gets older, but its still clearly identifiable."

"So then, my 'vampire' blood inside me, smells me like I'm a vampire?"

"No. The non-human blood that your body makes, it seems to be exactly that of your father's. 'Smells you' like Josef," she said with a smile, repeating my linguistic slip-up.

"You know my father's blood?" I asked, wondering if there was some sort of blood database or something that she looked this information up.

Ingrid smiled softly, and I had a sense she was going to tell me something that didn't make sense to me. "I've spent time with your father, he was a good friend. We've watched each other's backs for a couple hundred years. In there, with all the good and evil, vampires manage to get injured, attacked and they bleed. To a vampire, another vampire's blood isn't just a scent; it's a part of who they are. It's not something easily forgettable, it's like the way someone looks or the way they sound when they talk. It's uniquely different to each vampire."

_Yup, no sense at all._

"So every vampire makes a different vampire blood, except they don't really make it because their bone marrow doesn't make blood cells anymore. My father makes a different blood smell than any other vampire, except he doesn't really make it because his bone marrow doesn't make blood cells anymore. I make a blood that smells like my father, but I'm not a vampire, and I really do make blood with my bone marrow?" I quirked my eyebrow, I followed the equation, but it made no sense.

I looked over at Ingrid blankly, but she nodded as though I'd managed to summarize everything nicely.

"And, your bone marrow also makes A negative blood too," she added.

_Okay, lots of blood, two kinds of blood. Absolutely bizarre, but lets keep going or I'll spend all night making myself more confused._

"So, with so much blood, how do I end up anemic?"

"Your vampire blood needs other blood for energy. In your case, it has a ready supply of fresh blood right there. Blood tests only account for the human blood, so it probably shows that you have less than is 'normal', and because your body is trying to supply the demand for blood, it's probably why you wind up tired a lot.

"But I take medications and they make things better," I countered.

"Did you ever research the medications you take?" Ingrid asked.

I shrugged; it hadn't really been anything I thought about. I'm not even sure I knew their names in English.

"Do you know that silver is toxic to vampires?" Ingrid asked.

That would explain why I had to remove my silver jewelry before Baldric was willing to touch me or shake my hand.

"No, not really. What about holy water, garlic, rosary beads or wooden stakes?"

"Let's stick to silver right now, Bella. Silver is toxic. It kills vampire cells."

"Okay, silver is bad," I said. "But silver doesn't affect me," I continued, thinking of my great grandmother's jewelry.

"It does, just not in the way you think." Ingrid replied.

"Well then, what does it do?" I asked.

"It kills vampire cells," she responded.

_Either I'm really missing something obvious, or she just said the same thing twice._

"That doesn't make much sense," I said.

"Perhaps not quite yet. One of the medications you take is a drug to boost your blood production. The other medication you take isn't much more than a form of silver. Argento. It seems that the only 'vampire' cells in your body are in your bloodstream, at least that's what I have to guess or else you'd be really sick. The silver kills the vampire cells. So you make more blood and take out the blood that isn't as useful to you."

"How on earth would a doctor have known to treat this?"

"Chances are, your doctor had a lot of years under his belt, and I don't mean getting a medical degree in the 1950's, but even then, I don't know why he didn't report you to the community so you could have been properly cared for."

"You told me earlier that vampires kill bad vampires or threats or something. Does that mean that had he reported me, that someone in the vampire community would have killed me?

"Most likely, yes," Ingrid responded slowly.

"And the reason why you're not trying to kill me now?" I asked, still slightly apprehensive about this topic.

"Because you're Josef's. And because you're a genuinely good person. And because you're old enough to consent, whereas, as a community, we're forced to do what's best for a child," she responded after a moment.

"So, what happens to me now? I mean, past the obvious, I'm here until I can be somewhere else, we already established that," I said, raising an eyebrow at Ingrid's useless comment from earlier, challenging her to come up with another weak way to tell me to do nothing.

"Well, when Josef's adversaries aren't crawling around trying to get you, I can imagine it will be a priority for you to get to know the man. This whole situation may be enough for him to want to get to know you personally, finally. We'll have to do something about your blood problem, but that's probably a discussion best between Josef and yourself," she said.

"And Josef, is he going to try to kill me because I'm a threat to the community?" I asked, not at all sure I wanted to meet this bizarre vampire father figure.

Ingrid laughed so hard she nearly snorted. "I sincerely doubt that, since he's known about you for a couple years and has only tried to keep you safe. He could have done nothing and let someone else do the dirty work."

"If you don't want me dead, and Josef doesn't want me dead, and my doctor didn't want me dead, then why would people still want to kill me?" I asked, puzzled.

"I'm afraid I haven't explained Josef very well, Bella," she started, as though apologizing for an oversight. "In the vampire community, Josef is a very powerful man, and over the years he's made a few enemies, to put it lightly."

"So why would they want to have anything to do with me, why not go after Josef?" I asked.

"Well, many of them aim for Josef, and they're easy targets to find. The more insidious ones have taken an 'Ivan the Terrible' approach. Instead of finding him outright and killing him, they go after the people that mean the most to him in order to inflict more pain," she explained.

"How did they know I existed?" I asked. "I mean, I didn't even know I existed, until now"

"The vampire world isn't very easy to explain. We know things, some things, we all have secrets. One of Josef's enemies, systematically has been destroying everyone that Josef has made, for the last century or so. I'm not sure how your name wound up on his list. In the week before you came to England, the other 'child' of Josef, a vampire he had sired in the traditional vampire way, her home was firebombed. She died, along with everyone in her house and the houses adjacent to hers. Given that you also lived in New York, it was time to get you out."

The sun was starting to come up over the hills in the distance, and I yawned.

"Alright, Bella," she said, after watching me yawn three more times in succession, trying to hide them so not to be impolite. "I think the hour is upon us for all the good little girls and boys to go to bed."

"Two more questions?" I begged.

Ingrid smiled. "Go for it."

"The architect students?" I asked, raising an eyebrow

"Paid blood donors," she replied.

_Vampire lunch buffet… Makes more sense than having a gaggle of sexy young architects doing absolutely nothing at one's home. Does she kill them when she's done with them?_

"What about the drink you gave me? The one that made me feel so much better. What did you put in it?" I asked.

"Bella, you already know the answer to that one. You just have to trust that I know vampires better than you do."

_Well, what exactly were you expecting, Bella? Did you seriously think that a vampire would have handed off orange juice to some vampire/human half-breed?_

I wondered for a moment if I was going to be sick to my stomach. Ingrid must have caught the look in my eyes, because she came over to my side and started ushering me to the door.

"If you're going to throw up, please do it outside," she said

My stomach was already beginning to settle. I guess the thought of consuming blood wasn't so terrible, as long as I didn't have to consider where it came from.

"Outside?" I asked Ingrid a moment later after taking a few deep breaths of cool morning air.

She turned to me and smiled. "I forgot that all the plumbing has been located indoors for your entire life. Isn't that way for everyone, and I slipped up."

I laughed softly. "I doubt a latrine would look particularly becoming in the middle of your manicured lawn."

She made a face at me, obviously not wanting to contemplate that thought.

"In any event, I think I'm going to head to bed," I said to her.

"Good idea. We'll deal with your clothing situation later. I realized earlier that you had taken 'packing lightly' to a whole new level.

"I suppose that happens if clothes aren't as high of a priority as, say, not getting killed."

"You'll do alright, Bella," Ingrid said with a smile. You already have the right attitude, kid."

"What kind of attitude is that?" I asked her, realizing this had nothing to do with clothes.

"Your father's," Ingrid answered with a smile, as she walked back into the house, leaving me on the front porch contemplating what kind of person Josef, my father, was.

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**_This is the part where I beg for reviews and input and feedback. I really appreciate hearing what other people think of the story. If you have a few seconds, hit the blue button and say something! Thanks :)_**


	7. When Reality Clashes With Retribution

**_Mangi la minestra o salt'dalla finestra._**

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I woke up with a start, not entirely sure where I was. I had been in the middle of a dream, and for a moment, I couldn't place myself. I listened for a moment, hearing muffled noises of general splashing and cavorting by a swimming pool, and with the reassurance that everything was going to be okay, I opened my eyes and found myself in the same guestroom I had gone to sleep in. I sighed with relief, and tried to recollect the dream that had startled me so much.

In my dream, I'm a young child, running away. I'm standing at an unfamiliar place, a boat dock, a train station, I don't quite know what. There's a person with me, urging me to hurry. I don't ever see more of this person than her black slacks and her stylish black heeled boots. I hug this person's legs, I'm crying and I'm fearful. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose this person, but I don't know why or how.

The scene moves away and the person with the black slacks is gone. I'm looking for her. I'm walking down a sidewalk, under an evening sky. I'm alone. I hold my breath, listening intently. I hear a woman screaming in the distance, and it makes me afraid. And then I wake up from the dream, trembling slightly.

It reminded me of the ones I had as a child, the person in the black pants telling me to hurry, as though the two of us were running away from something. And hearing her scream. I had another dream a few weeks ago, that was similar last night. There was something in last night's dream that reminds me of this old dream, and I couldn't quite place why. In the older dream, I was sitting on the floor beside her in a dressing room of some sort, as she was getting ready for something, perhaps some sort of event. I never saw her face, but I remembered feeling at ease with her. She leaned over and clasped a necklace around my neck, a butterfly pendant with a smaller butterfly beside the larger one. I had played with it before and I was so proud to be wearing it, as though I was important and 'grown up' for wearing the necklace.

There was more to that dream, but the focus had been on this necklace. I thought it had belonged to her, perhaps.

Well, anyway, if I were a shrink, I'd have to tell myself that my strange dreams about running away and spending time with this familiar but unknown person was complete nonsense, and that I probably used it as an escape from whatever was happening in my real life. Those dreams only seemed to crop up when I was afraid or stressed.  
After learning yesterday that vampires roam amongst us, I think that hit the definition of both fear and stress.

I yawned and I stretched out on the bed. I rubbed my eyes and then I opened them, looking around. There were curtains over the window, but there was a rosy hue around the edges of the fabric, as though the sun was preparing to set. I got up, intending to grab a shower before grabbing breakfast from the kitchen. As I stood up, I nearly stumbled over a box on the floor.

_That's odd. I didn't leave a box on the floor._

Glancing down, I saw that there were nearly a dozen of these white boxes stacked up on the floor in two columns. I tilted my head to the side, trying to figure out what they were and what they were doing on the floor. They looked like the shallow wide boxes that the high-end boutique stores in Milan used for packaging clothes after a purchase.

_I know I wasn't in Milan last night._

I wondered what these boxes were doing here in my room, I didn't think I was expecting anything. I rubbed my eyes again, trying to push the sleepy fog out of my brain. And then I remembered: Ingrid had told me that she was going to get some more clothes after she had thrown out my jeans and sweater from last night. So I guessed, whatever was in those boxes, had something to do with clothes. I knelt down beside the boxes, slightly apprehensive because the high-end boxes were not anything close to what I had in mind.

I opened the top box, and as I lifted the lid, I saw what looked like a deep plum colored garment wrapped in tissue. Lifting the garment, I realized it was an evening gown, and judging by the looks of it, it would probably fit me perfectly.

_Why on earth would she deposit an evening gown in my room??_

I gingerly set the gown back in the box and closed the lid. I moved the box over to the bed, and wondered what would be in the next box. Maybe somewhere in here I'd find an explanation, I had a funny feeling that these boxes didn't contain a replacement pair of faded jeans and a cotton cardigan, and I surmised that perhaps Ingrid was a little crazy.

_Everything else here is a little crazy._

I opened up the following boxes, and I was both stunned and speechless at the clothes I had found tucked into the tissue paper. Cashmere sweaters, silk pajamas, leather jacket and pants, fancy underwear, soft camisoles, silk blouses, dresses with accessories, shirts and business suits that clearly cost more than my annual tuition at the university. I was even more speechless when I glanced at the labels on some of the clothes, top designers of Europe that some women would die for. And everything looked like it would fit me perfectly, which was a little odd since I hadn't told Ingrid my clothing size. Nestled inside one of the top boxes, I found a note that simply said: "Here are a few things to tide you over until you can go out shopping", written in Ingrid's old-fashioned, loopy handwriting.

I wondered if she thought she was being humorous.

I sighed softly and put the tops back on the boxes and stacked them neatly against the wall. I was speechless. Ingrid and I definitely had a different taste in fashion. I was a down-to-earth jeans and sneakers, fresh faced, occasionally messy pony-tail sort of gal. Dressing up, for me, consisted of slacks and a clean sweater, or a sundress and spending a few minutes pinning my hair up and tucking in a flower. And I wasn't exactly sure how to communicate that without sounding like I was ungrateful. I just didn't know how some people could wear clothes that cost more than a down payment on a new car. Didn't they worry about getting a stain? If a person can buy renter's insurance for an apartment for reimbursement of damages, can they also buy apparel insurance for their clothes? I shook my head and wondered if I was starting to lose my mind.

_Yup, losing one's mind may just happen with frequent regularity around this house._

I sighed again and decided to take that shower. There was something about showers that just couldn't be matched with anything else in the world. The warm spray was refreshing. Having my own brand of soap and shampoo was almost like having my own little corner of "things are okay" here in the middle of this bizarre melodrama I seemed to have walked right into the middle of. I let myself dawdle, thinking back to the warm summer days when my family would gather on the back porch drinking wine or iced tea, listening to my grandparents talk about the bygone days, after a fantastic dinner my grandmother had made. My stomach growled, and I realized that I needed to finish up and get myself a snack, or breakfast or dinner or something. Whatever time it was.

After finishing my shower, I dried myself off, and, after wrapping myself in a towel, I went in the second room to grab my medication and a bottle of water from my backpack. I was surprised when I couldn't find my medicationsanywhere in my backpack. I was sure they were in there before. I checked all of the obvious places I, or someone else, could have set them: the desk, the bathroom, the nightstand, the closet. I couldn't find them anywhere. I then remembered that Ingrid had said something last night about my medications, and I wondered if perhaps she'd forgotten to return them. Oh well, I'd find out from Ingrid, and get them in awhile. Oddly, I wasn't feeling the least bit sick or worn out, which was normal when I hadn't taken my medication twice daily like I had been instructed to do. I wandered back into the bathroom and found the hair dryer that had been set on the counter with the other toiletries. My grandma had been one of those 'old school' parents who believed that wet hair was a guarantee for catching pneumonia or something. I had never caught anything, but drying my hair immediately after a shower was a habit, and I was grateful that whomever had set out toiletries had also included a hair dryer. After drying my long hair, I glanced at the lush brown locks in the mirror while debating what to do with them. I decided to just leave my hair down. That took less effort than anything else.

I walked out into the bedroom, contemplating what I should actually wear. As much as I appreciated Ingrid's gesture of getting me more clothes, I just did not picture myself capable of wearing any of them. I turned to the closet and found the extra set of clothes I had packed from New York. I would always be more comfortable in a pair of faded jeans and a favorite t-shirt. As I put on my clothes, I sighed softly.

_Well, tis better to be comfortable than to be right._

After getting dressed, I went downstairs to find breakfast. As I arrived in the kitchen, I noticed that while the kitchen was empty, the window that overlooked the poolside area showed that there were a handful of the 'architecture students' playing water polo or volleyball as the sun set behind them. It was a beautiful scene and I found myself wishing I had a camera. The guys were gorgeous, the lighting was gorgeous, and the sunset was gorgeous too. I remembered after a few minutes that I was on a mission, and returned my thoughts back to the kitchen.

After looking through the fridge, I realized that eventually I'd need to ask for some specific items. Apparently, strange luxuries like milk and eggs were unknown in this household. I grabbed a container of yogurt and made myself another meat-and-cheese sandwich minus the bread. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and went to sit down at the table by the corner of the kitchen. I watched the guys goofing around in the pool. They seemed so carefree, and for a moment I felt a stab of jealousy. I didn't want to be playing in a pool, but I realized that most of the last two days of my life had been more intense than I could have imagined. I found myself wishing I could relax. I rubbed my temples, the first sign of a headache coming on, and made a mental note to go back up to my room and search again for my medication when I was done with breakfast.

I was just finishing my food when I heard someone come down the kitchen stairs. I was facing away from the stairs, so I turned slightly so I could see who it was. It was Adrian, the dark haired guy who Ingrid had used as a living explanation of who she was and what she did. I shuddered slightly at that recollection, then, having gazed at him for nearly a full minute, I remembered that I hadn't said anything to him and I was staring at him like I was an idiot. I greeted him and asked him how he was doing. He replied that he was doing fine, but I noticed his voice didn't have the vigor I would have expected, had he been truly fine.  
He came over and took a seat across from me at the table. He had a bottle of soda, and he began peeling an orange. I watched him, and I realized that I had questions about last night, questions that Ingrid or any vampire wouldn't be able to answer.

He looked up at me and apologized because he didn't remember my name exactly. I reintroduced myself and smiled softly. I could imagine remembering my name wasn't particularly high on his list at that moment when he had met me.

"Is it okay if I ask you about last night?" I asked to him.

He looked apprehensive for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I suppose so. Its not normally something I discuss, but you're hardly considered an outsider," he said.

_I kind of wish I still was._"Shoot," he said, letting me know that I was welcome to 'fire when ready'.

"Did that hurt?" I asked him. That was the question I was itching to know since last night, but I didn't find it appropriate to ask Ingrid. That would have been asking the wolf if the sheep feel pain.

"Nah, not really," he replied. "Sure, there's an initial sting, but it goes away," he clarified.

"Do people die on a regular basis, from doing what you did?" I asked, wondering if there was some high mortality rate associated with this sort of activity.

"Not usually," Adrian replied. "I've been doing this for about two years, I haven't heard of anyone dying in that time, but there are rumors especially about the Freshies who know more than they ought to about a customer's life."

"What's a Freshie?" I asked him.

"Freshie," he said and pointed to the side of his neck where Ingrid had gotten to know his jugular vein as part of a macabre show-and-tell opportunity. "I'm a Freshie, the guys outside are Freshies, there are gals too who are Freshies. We donate blood."

"By letting anyone sink their teeth into you?"

Adrian laughed softly. "Doesn't quite work that way," he said with a wink.

"Then, how does it work? Does the blood bank or Red Cross / Red Crescent Society call you on the phone and ask you if you're interested in making a living donation that doesn't involve sterility or needles?"

"Freshies work for vampires. We supply blood, they supply payment. There's a company that handles the details of the supply and demand who organize where Freshies go, but I don't really know about it. Pretty much though, I go where I'm told, when I'm told, and it's a nice paycheck."

"And that sums up the life of a Freshie?" I asked.

He nodded and started drinking his soda.

"What do you do, aside from this?" I asked him, curious about any other life he had that didn't revolve around giving blood.

He shrugged.

"College, sports, hobbies?" I asked, attempting to prompt him into saying something anything that gave a glimpse into his life.

"I go to the gym. My buddies and I hang out. I get paid well so I don't need to go to college. I like to tinker with my new motorcycle and go out clubbing."

_Lofty goals…. not!_

"Oh," I replied, not exactly knowing what else to say, I had expected him to have some sort of ambition in his life, and it seemed as though he didn't.

My conversation was cut short when Ingrid arrived in the kitchen.

Adrian stood up. "Is there anyone I can get for you, Ms. Mathesen?" he asked, gesturing to the guys outside who were now climbing out of the pool and chatting amongst themselves.

"No, but thank you Adrian. How are you doing?" Ingrid replied.

"Better than the usual," he responded.

_Remind me not to ask how "usual" was defined._

"Good," Ingrid responded.

"Bella, if you're finished, do you care to accompany me?" Ingrid politely inquired.

_Not if its breakfast time for you too._

"Sure," I responded, and I walked across the room, depositing my dishes into the dishwasher, and wrinkling my nose when my back was toward her. I was really in no hurry to see another graphic description of how she lived her life as a vampire.

I followed Ingrid out of the kitchen, across the main floor, and into her library. She sat down on an oversized leather chair, and I sat on the sofa, following her lead.

She looked down for a moment, and I realized that she had picked up, and was now holding a drink in her hands. Something alcoholic, I surmised, with a touch of pink, and I figured I knew what caused the coloration.

_At least she didn't invite me to attend her Bartending 101 course._

Ingrid looked uncomfortable for a minute, alternating between looking at me and looking at the lowball glass in her hands. She sighed softly, then looked at me in the eyes and began speaking finally.

"Bella, I know we've been on rocky ground since you've arrived here, but I'm afraid I need to be the bearer of bad news."

_Uh oh… If a vampire could classify it as 'bad' then I don't want to know how it would be catalogued in human terms._"Is Marcus okay?" I asked, the first person that came to mind who I thought would be in danger.

Ingrid sighed softly. "Yes, he's fine."

"What happened then?" I asked, not quite sure what could possibly be going wrong.

Ingrid got a faraway look in her eyes, and she started telling me a story.

"Josef has enemies, people who have a grudge against him."

I nodded; this had been told to me already. It made sense.

"Many years ago, he was here in Europe and he found himself falling for a vampiress, a female vampire.

"Was this during World War I?" I asked.

Ingrid offered me a small sad smile. "No, Bella, think several decades before any of the World Wars."

I nodded, realizing that time had a totally different meaning for vampires.

Unfortunately for Josef, there was another vampire who also fancied the woman, and, while in a dispute, Josef killed the other vampire. As I understand it, the other vampire attacked him and Josef was protected his own life. That vampire's sire took a personal grudge against Josef, perhaps believing that Josef had done the act intentionally, and has spent much of the last 150 years, more or less off-the-radar of the rest of the vampire world. He's been stalking Josef, from a distance. If Josef has a successful business venture, a gas line will mysteriously burst and take out the block and take out the business venture, or the company will inexplicably be fire bombed, or the government will be alerted and seize the property. Things have been hell for Josef. He's even gone so far as to engage others who have a similar grudge against Josef. But its not always just Josef's businesses, they have attacked him personally too, from the playbook of 'Ivan the Terrible' seemingly. They've killed close associates to Josef, and they've also killed vampires who were sired by Josef. They have their targets on you now, Bella, as you too have been 'sired' by Josef, just not in the usual sense."

"Last night, they learned that you were in Europe, and they assumed that you had gone to your family's home in Italy for refuge. They didn't find you there, but they assumed that your family knew where you were. When your family wouldn't tell them what they wanted to know, they killed them."

I looked at Ingrid, puzzled. The words she had just said weren't quite registering.

She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable, and said, "I'm sorry Bella, but your family is dead."

_That's impossible, there are just too many of them. She must be joking._

"My grandma? Aunt Lucia? My uncles? My cousins?" I asked softly.

"Yes, Bella, the whole family," Ingrid said, looking sadly at me.

"How did you find out?" I asked.

_Maybe she's wrong, she couldn't possibly get this information so quickly._

"The company I run, Bella, it's a cleaning service, we were notified."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

_This can't be happening._

"I'm sorry, Bella," Ingrid said, sadly.

My eyes filled with tears as the enormity of the situation finally descended into my head. "They were such good people," I said. "Grandma was one of the sweetest people around, my aunts and uncles were all upstanding members of their community, and my cousins, some of them were still only children." I bit my lip and continued, "why would anyone want to harm them?"

I wiped away the tears that had started falling. This couldn't have happened to my family, I didn't want to contemplate it or acknowledge that anything could happen to my family.

"I'm sorry, Bella." Ingrid said again, twisting her glass nervously in her hand as she looked into my eyes. "Evil doesn't play fair. I'm sorry that your family got wrapped up in this. They didn't deserve to die needlessly at the hand of vengeful vampires who were hell-bent on retribution."

I stood up and ran from the room. Ingrid was saying more, but I didn't hear it. I didn't care to hear it. I heard what I needed to hear, and nothing else she had to say was going to make a difference, ever.

My family was gone, and it was all because of me. They were killed because they didn't know where I was, and their killers didn't believe them. This was all my fault. If it weren't for me, they'd all be all right, and everything would be normal. How on earth does someone prepare for over a dozen funerals? How does one even begin to move on from something like this?

I ran up the main stairs, two at a time, and flung myself onto the bed in my room, my body shuddering with sobs. I pressed my face into the pillow, trying to muffle my screams of agony. So many things gone, senselessly. My cousins… Giulia would never see her fifth birthday. Mario was preparing to take his first communion. Giovanni had just gotten married, and his newborn, Valentina, and his wife were staying at Aunt Lucia's house until they had a down payment for a house of their own. My aunts and uncles…. My grandma… There would be no more evening get-togethers on my grandparents' back porch. There were no more cousins to buy "Americana" gifts for on their birthdays. There would be no more Christmas festivities. There would be no more Easter Mass with the family. There would be no more 'letters from home' for me to receive, to get a glimpse of my extended family in pictures and notes. It was just gone. Gone forever. And it was all because of me. It was all my fault.

I curled up into a ball on the bed, not caring that my shoes were probably leaving a mark on the white coverlet. I wrapped my arms around a pillow and just cried. My soul now felt completely empty. I knew Grandma was getting old in years and I knew her life would be ending in the next several years, but I never imagined I would lose everyone all at once. It hurt so much inside, I thought my heart would stop pumping and shatter. I wished it would. I lay there crying, mourning my family for several hours until I fell asleep.

I woke up later, my body felt awful, and as soon as I remembered why I was laying on the bed fully dressed, tears started streaming down my face again. My whole family didn't deserve to die because of me. They didn't deserve to be murdered. I just lay there, not sure if I'd ever find the will to get up again. I didn't care anymore. If my whole family was dead, I found myself wishing just a little bit, that I were dead too. I just lay there, curled up, facing the wall. I don't know if minutes passed or hours passed. I didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Time passed, and Ingrid came into the room and sat on the foot of my bed. I didn't have anything to say to her, I didn't even want to look at her. She sat at the foot of my bed, saying nothing. Perhaps she didn't know what to say. Maybe she forgot what it was like to have a family. After awhile, she got up and left. That was a mild improvement, as I realized that I had preferred to be alone. I couldn't deal with myself, I didn't want to deal with anyone else. I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to focus on what a rational person would do in this situation. I realized that there was nothing rational about this situation. People just don't have vampires show up and destroy their entire lives. This is the kind of material that CBS and major television stations will turn down because they decide that its too far-fetched to be considered as a realistic television show. This was just too far removed from reality; I didn't even have a grasp on it. I sighed and I rolled over to face the wall. I prayed for this nightmare to stop unfolding.

_Just fold yourself right back up and disappear, please._

I fell asleep again, and when I woke up, I realized it was daylight outside. I also realized that I had neglected some of my own body's needs, and I definitely needed to empty my bladder now.

_Life's always great until you have to take a pee._

I decided too that I should probably take a shower, maybe it would help ease the knots that were everywhere, in my neck, in my stomach, in my back, in my soul.

I stepped under the warm spray of the shower, and instead of reaching for my shampoo, I just stood there. I closed my eyes. I remembered the smell of my Grandma's bathroom. It always had a flowery scent of her powder. I had thought I was all cried out, but the memory sent a new wave of tears. I slumped down with my back against the tile, sitting on the floor, with my knees pressed against my chest. My chest heaved with sobs as I cried. My family didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. I rested my forehead on my knees, angry at my father, whoever he was, for being a vampire and creating me. I was angry at God. I was angry with my mother for abandoning me only to let her past come back and haunt everything that mattered to me. I was angry with myself. But deeper than my anger was my pain. No matter how angry I could get, the pain still hurt worse. I closed my eyes and tried to ease my pounding heart and aching chest. After several hours, the water began to run cold. I think I stopped caring. Maybe I would catch hypothermia or pneumonia and I would die. Maybe then things wouldn't hurt as much as they were hurting now. I think I was in that shower for hours, just ready to give up on the whole world. I had a raging headache, and I realized I hadn't taken any of my medication in awhile. I hadn't eaten either. But I didn't care. I just sat there under the spray of the cold water, not caring. It was a unique experience. I must have started dozing off, because there was suddenly someone walking into the shower, turning off the tap. I didn't move to figure out who it was. I didn't care; I didn't even lift up my head.

Someone picked me up by my shoulders and stood me on my feet. I was handed a terrycloth bathrobe to put on, but I couldn't find the willpower or the energy or the give-a-damn to put it on. So instead, I just stood there, the bathrobe limply resting in my hands. I knew I should be cold, but it oddly didn't register. I also knew that I should care that I was wet and nude in the bathroom with another person, but that didn't really register either. Someone coaxed my arms into the sleeves and wrapped the robe around me. I belatedly realized this person was Ingrid. She steered me over to the bed and I sat down on the edge. I sighed softly, already tired from the exertion of walking across the room. I closed my eyes. Ingrid came over and sat on the bed, and with a towel, she gently towel-dried my hair. I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the wall in front of me. Despite Ingrid's multi-thousand Euro wardrobe she had purchased for me, she found my faded jeans on the floor. She walked over to the closet and pulled out one of my well worn t-shirts.

The irony of the shirt pulled me out of my zombie state. Maybe it was the only thing that could have registered at that moment.

It was a favorite shirt of mine, a Christmas gift from Giovanni, one of the only cousins who understood my sense of humor. The shirt itself was green, and in silver script it read: "La vita è come un albero di natale, c'è sempre qualcuno che rompe le palle".

The English translation: "Life is like a Christmas tree, there's always someone who breaks the balls."

The shirt somewhat expressed how I felt at the moment.

I thought to the last Christmas I had spent with my family. My grandparents' house was warm and cozy, the children sang Christmas songs while the adults drank sat and drank Asti, a local sparkling wine. Giovanni had just gotten married the summer before, and he and his wife announced that they were planning to start a family. The kids were excited about winter skiing, while some of them wanted to season to start warming up so they could play soccer again. After knocking down my grandmother's needlepoint project, soccer had been permanently banned as an indoor sport within my grandparents' house.

I was so lost in thought about my last Christmas I spent with the family, that I hadn't realized that Ingrid had begun dressing me, as though I were a small child. I was surprised to find her pulling the shirt over my head and standing me up so that she could pull up my underwear and fasten my jeans around my waist. I couldn't remember the last time someone had dressed me, but at the same time I found myself lacking the willpower to even care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I closed my eyes and wished that the world would just fade to black and disappear.

"Come on, Bella," she coaxed gently. "I'm sorry that I had brought you such devastating news, but you need to be strong and to take care of yourself."

I shrugged. I had no ability to be strong, and I wasn't sure I was able to take care of myself or if I even wanted to. I wondered what it was like to be dead, if dying had been a painless process for my relatives, or if it had been painful and drawn out. I shuddered slightly at that thought. I didn't want my relatives to have died in a painful way, especially when I was responsible for the whole mess.

Ingrid grabbed me by my shoulders, and I opened my eyes as she stood me up, then led me down the stairs to the kitchen. I didn't think that vampires needed a kitchen, but I also realized that I wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Maybe vampires need kitchens to store vast roasts and legs of lamb. Not everyone who attends every party in Ingrid's ballroom could possibly be a vampire. Didn't the humans involved in her life need to eat at parties too? I shook my head and realized that my own train of thought was rather random and nonsensical. Here I was thinking about Ingrid catering a party, and I had no idea how I managed to get there. My mind wandered back to the last holiday party at my grandparents' home. Late one night I had snuggled up with the children, and shared with them some of the favorite American Christmas stories, translating the "The Night Before Christmas" and "Twelve Days of Christmas" back and forth between English and Italian until all the children were laughing because I began mispronouncing words that they knew so well, because my own mind had started to get jumbled up amongst the two languages and the myriad of questions coming from the kids about the different details about the stories.

Ingrid cleared her throat, and I was pulled from my momentary daydream.

"What do you eat?" she asked me.

I didn't respond. I didn't want to eat. I didn't even want to think about it. My head was pounding, my heart was pounding. I felt like I couldn't get a deep breath into my lungs. I didn't think I was having a panic attack, but I certainly didn't feel like eating. My heart ached as I realized that the same cousins I had laughed over Christmas stories with, would never hear another story, sing another song, or read another book. It wasn't fair. They didn't deserve this.

"Bella, you need to eat something," Ingrid coaxed as she started rummaging through the fridge.

I walked over to the corner of the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table, crossing my arms in front of me on the table and resting my head on my forearms. I closed my eyes. The whole world seemed to fade away. It was kind of peaceful. It made the hurt inside me lessen just a little big.

Someone pushed my shoulder, making me sit up. Ingrid set a plate of food in front of me.

"Eat," she said.

I didn't respond. This seemed like a moot point. I stared blankly at the woman, and I wondered if it were possible to throw up even when my stomach was empty. The thought of food was definitely on the opposite spectrum of appealing.

"You have to eat, Bella" Ingrid said.

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't really care if I ate or if I didn't. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. I closed my eyes, the hurt in my soul matching the pain in my body. I wasn't certain what was wrong with my body anymore. I wasn't accustomed to my body feeling so badly. I also wasn't accustomed to having my whole world ripped out from beneath my feet.

I heard Ingrid get up after awhile and leave the room. I found myself hoping that she'd lost interest, but at the same time, not really caring. I moved the plate away from me, and moved my arms on the table so I could rest my forehead on my forearms again. It didn't do anything to lessen the pain around me, but moving away from the light had a mild improvement to the throbbing inside my head.

She came back into the room a few minutes later, and she gently raised my head, making me sit up again. In her hand, she held a stainless steel cup filled with a dark liquid.

"Honey, if you won't eat, will you please just drink this?" Ingrid almost sounded like she was pleading with me. My nose caught the scent and it was intriguing for a brief second. I recognized the military-looking guy from the other night. I didn't understand why he popped into my head while I was looking down at the contained sanguinario spectacle before me, but I realized that I didn't really care. I stared at the liquid in the cup, my mind on my family and their untimely passing, my feelings of helplessness. Maybe I should have called them to tell them they were in danger, and they'd all still be alive. I felt a tear start creeping down the corner of my eye, and I tried to will myself from crying again. Shouldn't people run out of tears at some point?

Time slipped away from me. I don't know if it was a few minutes or several hours, but I realized at some point that Ingrid wasn't in the room. She was in another room, and it sounded like she was possibly on the phone. I guessed that when she's been around for centuries, death of humans doesn't mean much. After awhile, I realized her phone conversations were about me, I thought. She talked about my blood type and was asking if compatibility was a problem. I had no idea what she was talking about. She asked to someone, still unidentified, about how much time. I really didn't care about her conversation, and I walked back upstairs to my room. I curled up into a ball in the far corner of the bed, tucking my knees against my chest. I closed my eyes. I didn't have any more tears to give, I decided. I felt like shit, probably the combination of everything that happened these last few days, coupled with the fact that I had no idea when the last time I took my medication was.

I listened to the sounds of the house, the guys playing pool somewhere in the house, the faint sound of Ingrid talking to someone. I thought I heard a car drive up the driveway, but I wasn't sure.

I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up next, I found myself being lifted up into the arms of Baldric, the anaconda man. I knew it was him by his scent, but I lifted an eye to confirm. He carried me downstairs and took me to Ingrid's library. I could hear a man at the front door, talking with some other man about packed cells and whole blood and blood types and syringes and needles and such. The first man had an American accent; the second sounded like he was British, but that he was on some sort of official business of some sort, or else that the first man made him nervous. The American accent sounded casual and relaxed yet concerned all at the same time. I didn't really care, I tuned them out.

The anaconda man sat down on a chair and positioned me on his lap, resting my head against his shoulder. His arms felt comfortable, and the raw emotion about my family made his comfortable arms cause more pain inside my soul. Never again would I feel the warm embrace of my Grandma. Never again would I get to hug my younger cousins. In addition to the pain within my soul, my body felt violently ill at the same time.

I didn't realize that the American accent was done at the front door and had entered the library until I heard him talking to Ingrid. She was worried something about the right blood type because I wasn't a vampire. I stared blankly at the two of them, the words coming out of their mouths weren't making much sense. I closed my eyes and willed the world to drift away. The American accent guy assured her that he'd spoken to his own guy, a Guillermo, and called Marcus to double check.

_Marcus? What on earth would Marcus have to do with any of this?_

The American accent guy came up to me. The anaconda man rubbed my shoulders vigorously and I opened my eyes, looking at the blue eyes of the American accent man who was now sitting beside Baldric and I, but in another chair.

"I'm Mick St. John," he said, introducing himself and squatting down in front of me. "I'm a friend of Josef's and I was in the area and I heard that Ingrid needed some help with you."

I shrugged. I didn't need help from anyone, I just needed a hole to crawl into. Maybe I'd see my family again if I stayed in the hole long enough. I closed my eyes, memories of them flashing through my mind. The pain in my body was so great that I could barely breathe.

I opened my eyes to some unfamiliar sounds and saw that this man, Mick, was pouring dark red liquid from an IV blood-donation-appearing-bag into a glass. I closed my eyes, not caring, listless.

A moment later, I felt the glass pressed against my lips. I could smell the contents to realize it was blood, somehow different than Ingrid and earlier. Someone else's life blood. I wondered how my family was killed, if they had bled. If some monster had bitten them and sucked out all of their life blood. I gagged. I probably would have thrown up because of that last thought, and I was thankful that neither Baldric nor this Mick guy had forced me to drink. I turned away from the glass and burrowed my head into the anaconda man's chest, trying to get away from the blood, not wanting to think about my family's last thoughts or how they met their demise.

I heard someone sigh, Mick, I thought. I wasn't sure what his problem was, I didn't even know why he'd involved himself into this or even who he was. Ingrid never said anything about strangers, and I had a guess this Mick stranger was a vampire too.

Baldric started rubbing my back, almost as though he sensed my tension and pain. It kind of felt good, and I found myself relaxing somewhat in his arms. He started saying something softly in my ear, reassuring and kind, but I had no idea what he was saying. I rested my head against his shoulder and took a few ragged painful breaths.

"How long has she been breathing like that?" I heard Mick ask.

Ingrid said something in reply that I couldn't quite hear, but as a result, Mick swore.

I didn't know why Mick would be swearing. I doubted that Ingrid appreciated it particularly. My breathing sometimes got weird if I hadn't taken my medications in too long, my heart also would start beating funny too. It didn't bother me, and as life was going now, I didn't really care. The anaconda man was still rubbing my back, a gesture I found soothing, and I started slouching in his arms, running out of energy to even hold myself up.

Mick reached for one of my arms, pulling it toward him. It fell away from me limply, but he had a firm grip on it. A moment later, I felt a sharp pain in my inner elbow. I tried to pull my arm away from the source of the discomfort, but Mick still held a firm grip on my arm. I opened my eyes and saw that Mick was holding a large syringe in his hand, filled completely with a dark red substance, and the hypodermic needle attached to it was straight in my vein. I whimpered but the pain caused by the needle was quite small compared to the pain my whole body was feeling. Baldric resumed rubbing my back when it was clear to him that I wasn't going to fight Mick or the needle.

Several minutes later, the pain in my body started easing up. I noticed that my breathing took on a more normal, more human quality. Mick pulled the needle out of my arm, and started checking out my vein in my arm in a concerned sort of way. He seemed to know what he was doing, so I didn't even try to pull away.

"She needs more," I heard Mick say to Ingrid, and Ingrid muttered something that sounded like an agreement.

"Bella, honey," Mick addressed me. I opened up my eyes and looked at him. "Do you think you can drink some?" I didn't answer him, but it was almost like he read my thoughts, hunger mixed with apprehension. I had no idea how my body decided to be hungry, several minutes ago hunger hadn't even registered. He smiled. He took the syringe out of the glass, and poured more of the bagged red liquid into the half-empty cup. He handed the glass to Baldric, and the anaconda man brought it up to my lips. It smelled enticing, and, blocking anything else from my mind, I closed my eyes and drank it, taking the glass from Baldric halfway through so I could drink it more quickly than he was helping me.

I felt a tingle go through my body from top to bottom. This was better than a double espresso. I found strength I didn't have before, as I noticed too that the pain that had been hurting me before was significantly diminished. I sat up, and maneuvered myself so I saw sitting beside Baldric, instead of supported by his arms.

"Can I have more?" I asked, and I heard Ingrid, Baldric and Mick all laugh, as though my comment brought relief to all of them.

"Sure," Mick said, "but go easy on it." I didn't even attempt to contemplate what he meant; I was focused on his movements, and the enticing scent that had captured my attention. He poured more dark red liquid into the glass, filling it halfway. When he handed it to me, I surprised myself by taking it from his hands and up-ending the glass, finishing the contents in nearly one gulp.

I felt significantly better. My headache was gone and the pain in my body was leaving. My thoughts were starting to clear up, and in odd moment, I realized that moping around and mourning my family probably wasn't going to solve anything. I sighed softly and willed the tears to keep from falling. I didn't think I was going to stop missing them anytime soon.

"What happens now?" I asked, to nobody in particular. I didn't want to stay here sitting amongst the vampires. I also didn't want to admit that the blood of another human had just managed to turn my world right-side up again, nor did I want to admit that this blue-eyed vampire before me was actually quite handsome in his own rugged way.

Ingrid answered, "You're going to go upstairs where we can keep an eye on you better."

_Better than what?_

I found Baldric gently guiding me to my feet, and we went up the main stairs. I was surprised when he didn't stop at the second floor as I had anticipated, but ushered me up to the third floor.

"I'm not supposed to be up here." I murmured softly to the anaconda man.

"For now, Bella, this is where you need to be," Ingrid said, as though she heard my comment.

"Why?" I questioned.

"I don't want to leave you with the Freshies in case there's an accident," Ingrid replied smoothly, without going into details. I wondered what sort of accident I could possibly get into, but I let it slide.

"Where should she go?" Baldric asked to Ingrid.

"You can put her in my room," Mick offered. "I'm accustomed to the human factor," he said.

I yawned, it must be daybreak, I mused to myself. I had completely lost track of time but my body seemed to adjust to a sundown-till-sunup lifestyle, regardless of how tired I was or how jet-lagged I became. That was one reason why I needed an alarm clock to make sure I didn't sleep thru my classes at school.

Baldric led me down the corridor to a room, and, when he opened the door, I saw that it was a guest room set up in a similar fashion to mine, with the major exception being that the windows were tinted and that the room was black marble. I glanced outside and saw the sun starting to rise over the hills in the distance. I yawned again, and Baldric led me over to the bed and I lay down on the dark green silk duvet cover. Baldric eased off my shoes and set them on the floor beside the bed.

I looked over at the dark haired giant of a man. I was surprised at how at-ease I felt in Baldric's presence. Maybe he was my oversized security blanket like Ingrid had implied. "Is this Mick guy expecting to share the bed with me?" I asked sleepily.

Baldric laughed, and Mick walked into the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Bella. I don't use a bed, plus I'm not sure my wife would approve." Mick came up to the bed and stood beside it with an easy grin on his face. Apparently thinking about his wife was something that made him smile. I wondered how many years, hundreds of years or thousands of years he had been married for.

Baldric bid me a quick farewell, and left the room. Mick stood by the foot of the bed, awkwardly, and after a few minutes, he went to the second room and came back with a chair. He sat down on it, and, removing his dark boots, rested his feet up on the bed and tilted the chair so only the back two legs made contact with the floor.

He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully.

"Comfortable?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he replied

We were both silent for a moment, and I rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

"Bella," Mick started, "I'm really sorry about your family."

"Me too," I replied, trying to blink back a new wave of tears. I turned to face him.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there to stop it from happening, but if I can give any consolation, the three vampires responsible for your family have been taken care of."

"Are they going to prison?" I asked, wondering how the authorities caught up with them so quickly.

Mick laughed softly. "We have a different sort of justice system," he responded, as though he wanted to tell me more details, but decided against it.

Ingrid had mentioned that the vampire community had its own way of dealing with problems. I guess this was an example of what she meant.

"What am I doing up here?" I asked Mick, wondering why, if I was just going to sleep, why Ingrid had me coming to the third floor instead of my guest room. "Is there a problem with my own room?"

"Ingrid thought it appropriate to keep you away from the Freshies until we know how your body handles blood and higher amounts of vampire blood in your system than you're accustomed to."

"Because I hadn't taken my medication?" I asked.

"In something like five days," he agreed.

I hadn't realized it had been five days. It seemed like only a day an a half since Ingrid told me about my family, but I had felt so crummy in the aftermath that I supposed that time could have escaped me. I shrugged off the lapse of time.

"Nobody keeps silver in their house," Mick said, as though explaining something. I remembered Ingrid mentioning that there was silver somehow in my medicine and I realized belatedly that perhaps it was the source of a problem. "Silver and vampires, it never seems to work out well. There are other ways to deal with your health problems without potentially poisoning those around you."

"But I'd never poison vampires," I said.

"I know, Bella. Ingrid realized that it may be as much of a hazard to you as it was to anyone you might encounter. So, drugs out. We'll find some other way to deal with things. In the meantime, we'll keep you away from the Freshies," he said with a lazy grin.

"But I don't have fangs, I'm not a vampire." I said, in case Mick didn't know yet. "I don't think the consistency of my blood plays any role in this," I continued.

Mick shrugged softly, then smiled. "All the better reason not to leave things up to chance. I've learned a thing or two about taking chances in these years."

"Are you five hundred years old too?" I asked the youthful man.

He chuckled. "Not all the vampires in the planet are as old as Ingrid and Josef. I'm only in my nineties, but don't let that sway your opinion about me."

I looked at this man, who was claiming to be older than my grandfather when passed away, older than Grandma, but my brain just seemed to get stuck on the fact that Mick didn't look any older than Ingrid. A ninety year old perpetual thirty-year-old. That would be a challenge for any bioethics class, except that vampires aren't a topic covered in any medical journals or research. I mentally shrugged that off.

My mind wandered to a different topic. "You said earlier that you were accustomed to the 'human factor'. What did that mean?"

"Most vampires aren't accustomed to having humans in close proximity. I guess I'm the exception to that." He closed his eyes and sighed happily, the opened them and looked at me. "I found the love of my life and I married her."

"And she's normal?" I asked, incredulously.

"As in a human and not a vampire?" Mick asked with a twinkle in his eye, and I blushed, realizing that I'd probably just insulted him and anyone who considered vampirism as a 'normal' way to live life.

"She's human" Mick assented. "But not for long, if she has her way about it."

"She wants to be a vampire?" I asked, confused.

_Why would anyone want to be a vampire?_

Mick shrugged again, as though the question didn't sit well with him. "She wants to be with me. Since I happen to be a vampire, she's decided she'd like to join eternity with me while she's still young."

"And what is it that you want?" I asked cautiously, trying to understand Mick's discomfort.

He paused for a moment, considering the question, considering how much to reveal to me.

"I just want her to be safe. The vampire world isn't always safe," he said.

Thinking about my family, I countered, "The human world isn't always safe either."

Mick sighed softly, and I realized that this was an emotional minefield for him probably, and I decided to change topics before he or I turned into a mushy ball of emotions.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Beth," he said, and smiled. "I became so accustomed to calling her Beth Turner that I'm still adjusting now that we finally share the same last name."

"That's a beautiful name," I said.

"For a beautiful woman," Mick agreed.

My mind seemed to etch through the throes of old discarded and useless information. I'd heard of someone named Beth Turner a few years ago. While I was still in Milan, the girls on my dorm would watch an internet tabloid, getting the scoop on the Hollywood comings and goings and getting an opportunity to practice our English vocabulary. If I remembered correctly, Beth was a doe-eyed blonde knockout before she left the program, only to be replaced by someone who wasn't nearly as attractive nor enunciated as clearly. The enunciation part had been a bitch and I had quit following the Hollywood comings and goings. Hollywood was close to LA, if I remembered correctly. It suddenly dawned on me, and I stared at Mick St. John.

"You're not talking about the Beth Turner, are you?" I asked, my eyes widening in a form of surprise.

"How do you mean that?" he asked, looking at me strangely for a moment.

"Beth Turner, a reporter for an internet news company. Company was full of interesting tidbits of the American culture. Buzz something. Buzz line? Buzz cable?"

Mick chuckled. "BuzzWire?" he offered.

I tried to access my mental rolodex, but the name didn't quite fit. "That may be it," I responded cautiously, wondering how much I'd forgotten already in the English language.

"Hollywood?" he supplied. "Trashy tabloids? A new startling exposé every six hours? Fantastic fluff pieces that occasionally seem to be lacking any factual evidence?" He offered me another lazy smile.

I smiled back. "That sounds about right," I said, trying to recount the times I rolled my eyes as my roommate took this website as the gospel truth about the United States comings and goings.

"In that case," Mick said, "It sounds like you already know my wife thru her former employer."

I was dumbstruck. I didn't realize that vampires had ties that even stretched to news corporations, if that internet reporting company counted as a news corporation. I hadn't realized that perhaps vampires were more pervasive than I had ever considered. I had just assumed that they live out their lives in their own vampire worlds.

My curiosity took a different tangent and I found myself asking a question that was far more personal than I had intended.

"Does she sleep in a freezer with you?" I asked

Mick laughed as though I'd asked something funny. I quirked my eyebrow at him, trying to figure out what was the source of his humor.

"Do you sleep in a freezer, Bella?" he countered.

I made a face, not even wanting to imagine giving up soft pillows and warm blankets in favor of some cold dark sub zero place. Earlier tonight, I was sitting in a cold shower and I hadn't cared, but I found myself beginning to care again.

Mick laughed again, looking at the expression on my face. "Beth feels about the same way about it," he said.

"What do you do, for a job?" I asked him, wanting to change the subject away from freezers.

"I work as a private investigator in LA," he said.

"And you're in London, because?" I questioned, wondering what LA had to do with London and if his private investigations took him here. LA and London weren't exactly a quick commute apart from each other.

"I'm in London because I'm helping out a friend," he said.

"Ingrid?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Josef… and you."

I gave him a puzzled look.

"When Josef realized you were in trouble, he sent me to… um… help make things better. He had presumed that you would have gone to Italy, and when I got there I saw what had happened to your family. The Cleaners and I, we took care of the vampires responsible for your family."

"The Cleaners?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I would have thought Ingrid explained it to you."

I shook my head. Ingrid didn't seem to explain much to me unless I asked her outright.

"Ingrid is one of the directors for the Cleaners."

"Her janitorial company?" I asked, bewildered.

He looked at me, equally confused for a moment. Then it was as though the light bulb turned on, I could see it in his face.

"Ingrid's 'janitors'," he said, "are vampires who help clean up problems in the vampire/human community."

I shuddered a little. I would have preferred them to have simply concerned themselves with cleaning office buildings and ruining the occasional vacuum cleaner.

"How did you end up in London?" I asked.

"The Cleaners put me in touch with Ingrid, and we got things squared away. I arrived to London in time to deal with a half-vampire going through a deep stage of mourning that nearly took her life."

I blushed when I realized he was talking about me, but my mind started wandering back to my own family and wanting to ask Mick about them, but not sure I wanted to hear the answers.

He smiled softly at my embarrassment and decided to ignore anything else. "Don't worry," he said. "You're kind of uncharted territory in terms of the vampire world, and I'm glad I was able to help."

"What's going to happen now?" I asked.

"Well, Bella," he said, "for now, its time for both of us to grab some shut-eye. We'll figure out what needs to happen next when we get there."

"Please don't tell me that you plan on sleeping in that chair," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," he grinned. "It's not cold enough. But I figured I'd hang out for a bit and make sure you settled in okay before I went away."

I yawned softly, sleep already starting to spin cobwebs in my brain. "I think I'm okay," I said to him.

"I know," he said, "but Josef would put a stake through me if he thought I was doing anything less than making completely sure you were going to pull through and be fine. He doesn't want to lose you too."

"Me too?" I echoed.

Mick sighed softly, a dark look flashing on his face for a second before it passed. "That's a long story, Bella. And one that's not quite suited for a bedtime story."

"I didn't realize that telling stories for bedtime was in your job description, Mr. Private Investigator." I said with a smile, stifling another yawn.

"I do a lot of things that aren't in the job description," he countered.

"Like injecting blood into complete strangers?" I offered, thinking of the scene in Ingrid's library earlier.

Mick smiled. "Sort of like that," he conceded.

"Now, Bella… Its high time for you to get some rest," he chided gently.

My eyes were already half closed, and the thought of sleep sounding better and better with each passing moment. I yawned.

"One more question?" I asked, struggling to keep my eyes open. "You said that you're a friend of Josef's. Is he an okay kind of guy?"

"He's one of the best friends anyone could have," Mick said.

I thought he said more, but I was already falling asleep fast after getting another opinion that my father wasn't out to kill me. I sighed softly, and sleep overtook me. I guess Josef didn't sound like such a bad sort of person to know.

* * *

_This is the place where I grovel for input and opinons. Honestly, if I can take a handful of hours and put this together, can you take a handful of seconds and let me know if ya like it?_


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